Campfire Stories, Season Four
by polrobin
Summary: A series of post- or mid-ep stories set in season 4 following the growth of the relationship between Sam and Jack. Some are missing scenes, some are episode tags. Marked "complete" because each chapter can stand alone. Feedback always answered.
1. Testing The Water

A/N: Annnnd . . . we're off! Season 4, here we go! Super-duper shippy thanks to Leiasky for the on-demand beta work. We'll consider this a late Shipsgiving offering, shall we?

Set between _Nemesis_ and _Small Victories_, on Chulak and afterward, on Earth_._ Ep. synopsis, _Nemesis: SG-1, minus Daniel who's recovering from an emergency appendectomy (it really was Shanks' appendix) faces creatures of mass destruction that even the Asgard can't control, and must destroy Thor's infested vessel before the Replicator bugs reach Earth. This is the first half of the two-part season ender. _Ep synopsis, _Small Victories_: _O'Neill and Teal'c risk their lives to keep the Replicator bugs from gaining a foothold on Earth, while Carter helps the Asgard fend off a Replicator invasion._

~ o0o~

_**Testing the Waters**_

~ o0o~

Chulak  
Village of the People of the Sun High Plains (Teal'c's village)  
First night after they arrive from P3X-234

"Carter."

"Sir?"

O'Neill stood over her, his face in shadow as he hovered hear the edge of the firepit. "I'm going fishing tomorrow. Ry'ac and the boys are going to show me the prime spot."

Sam smiled up at him, puzzled as to why he was telling her this. "Ah, okay, Sir. Well . . . um, have fun." She watched as he scratched his head and then sat down beside her, clearly not satisfied with her response. The change in position made it possible for her to see his face, as well as the frown etched on his features. "Sir?"

"You could, I dunno. Come along?"

Sam's heart stuttered to a stop. Here they were again. He asking her to go fishing and she wanting to but unwilling to take that step. It seemed to be so much more. On the other hand, it's not like they'd be alone at his cabin, several states . . . and a world . . . away from the SGC. No, here they'd be surrounded by Jaffa, by Teal'c's family and friends. Here they'd be . . .

"You know what, Carter? Never mind."

"Sir?" Sam started, as dismayed by the withdrawal of the invitation as she'd been worried about the initial invite.

O'Neill moodily poked at the fire and shrugged. "If you don't want to–"

"No."

"'K. Fine." The Colonel shrugged and jabbed once more at the fire.

Sam shook her head and then reached out to still his increasingly violent pokes at the harmless fire. "No, I mean . . . it's not that I don't want to."

"It's not?"

He turned to face her and she got the full force of the brown-eyed puppy gaze, as Cassie so innocently called it. Sam wondered if he knew just how powerful that effect was. The firelight turned his tawny gaze to a deep, warm amber, and the dancing flames seemed to catch and highlight the gold flecks that swam within. Sam swallowed the sudden moisture in her mouth, fighting as she always did, her almost visceral reaction to his direct, open stare. "No," she whispered. "It's not."

"Oh."

The fire crackled merrily in the pit, aided by the Colonel's occasional pokes at the embers. Behind them, Sam could hear Bra'tac as he spun a tale for the younger children around the large, central village fire. She briefly wondered where Teal'c was, then realized that he was probably doing things she'd rather not consider, especially now. After a long moment, she slid her feet back up and rested her cheek on her knees, her eyes on O'Neill. She set her tea down beside her and began to idly play with the one bootlace that always seemed to come undone. "When I was a little girl, Dad was stationed at Scott for a while. There was this huge park on the edge of the base, acres and acres of land. The place was amazing, and Mark and I would disappear all day. We had a gang of friends that we hung out with–"

"Gang?" O'Neill smiled at her. "Carter, you had a gang?"

Shrugging, Sam returned his grin. "Well, you know, as exciting as a gang of eight-year-olds can be. Anyway, my best friend in our group was a guy named Gareth. Gareth was . . . wow. Cool. Amazing. Mr. Funloving himself. Gareth was usually our leader . . . and chief instigator, being the ripe old age of twelve." She glanced up to find O'Neill's eyes on hers, his face relaxed as he listened to her story. "In the park was this outdoor band shell, and behind it, this great hill. Really steep. In the winter it was an awesome sledding hill, but in the summer, well, the hill had a path that was paved with asphalt. Gareth used to challenge us to ride our skateboards down that hill, aptly named 'suicide hill.'" Sam shrugged when the Colonel' raised his eyebrow. "I know. Anyway, we, Mark and I, the Villers boys, Mary Parker and a few others, we'd sort of hop-slash-ride our skateboards halfway down that hill, then hop on and zoom down the last thirty feet or so. Gareth would always laugh and say to us, 'Someday you'll be ready to go all the way down without dragging your feet.'"

Sam took a sip of her now cold tea and grimaced. She smiled when O'Neill reached out and poured warm water into the mug without a word, clearly waiting for her to continue her story. She closed her eyes for a second, thinking of that last golden afternoon of summer when she'd stood at the top of the hill, determined to, just this once, do it.

"Well?"

"The last day of summer vacation, we stood there at the top of suicide hill. I can still see Gareth standing at the bottom, it looked like he was miles and miles away. He was waving me down and Mark was behind me, daring me to do it. Just . . . do it. I really wanted to. Really. Probably more than anything else in the world. I didn't want it because almost all the others had done it, I didn't even want it because Gareth wanted it. I wanted it because _I_ wanted it. To know I had done it. And because . . . well, because." Sam turned her face to the fire, watching the wind chase shadows around the glowing embers. "So, I did it. I pushed off, lifted my foot, and . . . let go."

"What happened?"

Grimacing slightly at the memory, Sam lifted her right hand and tilted it toward the firelight. "I have a scar here, and here, and another on my elbow," she said, pointing at faint mark each in turn. "Broke my wrist and spent the first six weeks of the school year in a cast."

"What'd 'Mr. Fun' say?"

"He came to see me in the base hospital, even brought me flowers. I remember him signing my cast, then looking at me and saying, 'Guess you weren't ready to stop dragging your feet.'" Sam blew out a breath. "I guess he was right, and I have the scars to prove it."

O'Neill added another log to the fire, then looked over at her, his expression questioning. "Are we still talking about fishing?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know . . . maybe."

"And?"

Another, louder breath escaped as Sam shifted. She dropped her knees and crossed her legs Indian style, and rested her elbows on her knees. Setting her mug aside, she clasped her hands together, fighting the urge to fidget. "I think . . . I know, actually," she looked up at him. "I want to . . . go fishing. I do. It's just that . . ."

"Carter, it's just fishing."

"Is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Colonel. When you asked me back on Earth, 'just fishing' meant a long journey to an isolated cabin with just the two of us." Sam swallowed hard, then added softly, "That kind of . . . concentrated alone time opens all kind of . . . other possibilities." She gulped back a sudden wave of fear. "Or, am I completely off-base, and it really _is_ just fishing?"

It probably took O'Neill only a second to respond, but that second felt like an eternity to Sam as she waited, her heart in her throat, for him to respond. When he did, with a sigh of his own and a tiny head shake, Sam felt her heart start to beat again. Then to pound. There it was, out in the open. The unspeakable . . . thing . . . they had.

"No," O'Neill's voice was as soft as hers had been. "You're right."

"Oh . . ." Now it was Sam's turn to sigh. It was one thing to _think_ you knew how someone felt about you, but another to have him confirm it. "So . . ."

"So." The Colonel poked again at the fire, this time his movements were almost tired, listless. He cocked his head at her after a few moments and asked, his voice almost tentative. "But . . . you _will_ go fishing . . . someday?"

And all at once Sam was back on that long-ago hillside, perched on the edge of madness. All she had to do was lift her foot and . . . go. She held his gaze and then slowly nodded, smiling as a rare, open smile slid across his features, matching hers. Her heart raced as she considered what it was they'd said . . . and hadn't said. And what she'd just told him. Yep. The edge of reason.

Madness.

What an amazing place to be.

The fire burned low before O'Neill spoke again. "You know, with all these people around, I'd say this could be considered a safe place to . . . drag your feet, as it were." Those brown eyes were back, deep and amber, engaging Sam's gaze and holding it. When she hesitated, he lowered his voice still more and said, softly, "No pressure, Sam. No pushing. No . . . egging you on. You don't even have to get your feet wet if you don't want to."

Sitting there, his silvering hair limned in the firelight and the stark realities of their everyday battles so far away, Sam had to stop herself from leaning into him. Instead she just nodded, shifting just a little bit closer to him. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. If the invitation is still open, Colonel, I think I'd like to tag along tomorrow."

~ o0o~

Earth  
Jack O'Neill's Home  
Two days after Sam and Thor beam O'Neill and Teal'c up from the Russian sub.

"_What is your current thinking process?"_

_Sam, startled by the soft question, rose and turned to her tiny host. "Sorry, my mind was wandering for a second there."_

"_You were thinking about the humans on your planet."_

"_Yes."_

_Thor's gaze was direct, and Sam found herself fighting the urge to squirm. That urge intensified as Thor said, "Colonel O'Neill is a very capable human."_

_How had he known? How had he understood that at that very moment Sam wanted to be with her team, with . . . him, fighting this new threat together? How, with each mention of the new Asgard ship _O'Neill_, she just wanted to turn to find him standing beside her, fighting with her. Just . . . here. Or she there. _

"So, they really had a ship named O'Neill?" The Colonel's question, so closely mirroring Sam's thoughts, jerked her back to the present. She looked up as he stepped into the firelight and joined them around the firepit at the bottom of the yard. Pausing to hand out warm drinks to Teal'c and Daniel before settling himself down in his customary spot beside Sam, the Colonel let out a contented sigh, and she couldn't help but smile. Teal'c sat across from them, resting easily in the large canvass chair the Colonel had bought just for him, and Daniel sat perched in the rickety old aluminum chair he'd unearthed from the back of O'Neill's garden shed. When nobody answered, O'Neill spoke again. "Carter?"

Sam looked over at him as he passed her a steaming mug of tea. "Yep. Until a week ago it was their pride and joy."

"How so?" Daniel looked up from his coffee, his expression curious.

Sam blew on her tea to cool it, then took a cautious sip. "Mmm, thanks, Sir." To Daniel she replied, "Thor said it was their most technologically advanced ship to date."

"Huh." Daniel glanced from the Colonel to Sam and back again. He scratched his head and said, a glint of humor in his eye. "Well, that's irony for you."

O'Neill looked up. "How so?"

Sam caught Daniel's eye and bit back a grin, realizing as she did so that she was more relaxed about teasing the Colonel than she'd ever been before. She leaned back against the bench behind her, appreciating the fact that they were all here. Home. Sitting in their usual places around the Colonel's firepit. Stretching her legs out, she wiggled her sneakered feet, grateful for the warmth of both the tea and the fire. And the company. Her thoughts wandered idly as Daniel and the Colonel bantered back and forth, the Colonel insisting that there certainly was no irony at all in the Asgard naming their most important ship after him. Even Teal'c almost smiled at that comment.

"It's funny, don't you think?" asked Daniel, carefully sipping his hot coffee.

"No, I _don't_, Daniel," O'Neill muttered, still obviously put out.

"Not that, Jack. I mean . . . well, Sam, you used the _O'Neill_ to save both you the Asgard, and then you and the Asgard in turn saved Teal'c and Jack." He shrugged, and then sat back in his creaky lawn chair. "Well, _I_ think that's interesting, anyway."

"Indeed, Daniel Jackson. Almost a full circle."

"Oh, _now_ you speak? Where were you when Daniel was calling my super-smart spaceship 'ironic?'"

Sam snorted when Teal'c merely raised an eyebrow. She raised her cup to her lips again as Daniel spoke.

"Sam, I'll bet you were bored out of your mind on Chulak. I mean, Teal'c got to visit family, Jack looks as relaxed as he does when he comes back from his cabin, but what about you? You seem just as relaxed, and I just can't imagine you went fishing."

Sam leaned forward, choking as she tried to avoid inhaling her tea down her windpipe. The Colonel helpfully thumped her on the back a few times until, coughing slightly, she waved him off. She glanced from the Colonel to Teal'c and back again, noting with a blush Teal'c's gentle gaze and the suble lift of the Colonel's lips.

Easing backward once again on the cushion, she slid her feet up and tucked them under her, deliberately brushing one knee against her Colonel's leg. As she raised her mug again to her lips she allowed a tiny smile of her own to slide across her lips. "Oh, I don't know, Daniel. I might have gotten my feet wet a time or two."

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note: I know I've said this before, but I really do believe that while Sam and Jack didn't dive into bed during their week-long interlude on P3X-234 (and Chulak, in my universe), they did come to some sort of understanding. In _Nemesis_, there's a great deal of sexual tension in that "come fishing" invitation. Sam is hesitant, unsure, and Jack immediately jumps to the "nothing wrong with that . . ." line. Contrast that with the interaction at the beginning of _Small Victories_, when Sam says, "Still going fishing?" and Jack replies, "Yep. Still staying here?"

It's significant that it's Sam who brings up the fishing in _Small Victories_ and the warm, open smiles they share say a lot . . . at least to me. Neither is looking away, ducking the eye contact. They're both so . . . _present_. Something changed during that week. I think this is a terrific ep to kick off what is arguably the shippiest season of all.


	2. What it Takes

A/N: At end. Thanks to Leiasky for a fast, accurate, and detailed beta. And for the IM followup to iron out the rough bit.

Set after _The Other Side_, on Earth_._ Ep. synopsis, _SG-1 responds to a cry for help from a doomed civilization, which promises to give Earthlings access to highly advanced technology in exchange for supplies that would help them defeat their enemies. But the team soon discovers a shocking secret that may prove that SG-1 is doing a lot more harm than good._

~ o0o~

_**What It Takes**_

~ o0o~

Jack flicked a leaf off of the arm of his deck chair and cautiously leaned back, mindful of the age of the old wood. It creaked, but it held. The sigh he blew out wasn't related in any way to his furniture supporting him and for that he sighed again. _I'm getting too old for this_, he thought. Reaching for the bottle of Guinness resting on the rail, he paused at the sound of a motorcycle roaring in the distance. For one brief instant his heart leapt, and he cursed that traitorous organ for responding despite his best intentions.

Again the bike gave a throaty grumble and again Jack felt his heart skip.

She wouldn't come, he knew that. She _couldn't_ and he was sure of that, just as sure the _couldn't_ wasn't because of the regulations. Not this time.

Again the look on her face as she stood below him on the ramp flashed before his eyes. Those wide, fathomless blue eyes that always communicated so much to him. This time what he saw there made his oft-stuttering heart shudder with pain.

She'd looked. . .betrayed.

Stunned.

He played with the water beading on the cooling bottle of Ireland's best export and watched the afternoon sun slip into evening, painting the sky with color. Even those colors were muted this evening, duller. Just as he felt. As the last rays faded across the dimming night sky, Jack tipped the last of his Guinness back. It was too cold to sit here, yet he didn't want to go inside. Not yet.

Tipping forward, he set the front legs of the chair down with a thump and rose, slightly stiff from the cool evening air. He tossed the bottle into the recycling bin set into the corner of his porch and, hands stuffed into his pockets, stepped down into the yard. He wandered the perimeter aimlessly before stopping beside the well-used firepit at the bottom of the yard. Kicking at charred fragments of a forgotten fire, Jack studiously avoided turning his gaze toward the cushion set haphazardly on the ground between the picnic bench and the ring of stones encircling the pit.

_I should replace that old thing_. The he realized how fruitless that would be. He wasn't entirely certain his Second would be sitting there any time soon.

This was nuts, he realized. He was in his own yard, in his own home, feeling like crap, and for what? Because he'd told the tech to close the iris on a modern-day Hitler? What the hell was he supposed to do? Let the guy come through? He'd _lied_ to them! Pushed Jack into killing people who were not, in fact, his enemy. Alar's words came back to him.

"_Well, if you are concerned about lives lost, remember they are your enemy now. I look forward to your return. Which reminds me; perhaps it would be best if the Jaffa did not return"_

_Confused, Jack asked, "Teal'c…why? He hasn't said a word."_

"_It's not what he said. It's what he is."_

"_Well he's different, I'll grant you that."_

"_Not…like us."_

_A sick feeling rose in Jack's stomach as he realized the meaning of the man's words. Oh my God. What the hell have we. . .crap. Realizing Alar was awaiting his response, Jack schooled his features and answered cautiously, "Right."_

Sitting down heavily onto the bench, Jack rested his elbows on the table-top behind him and stretched his legs out. Again Carter's face flashed through his memory and again he wished he'd taken a moment and just asked her what she'd been thinking. He could live with the decision he'd made. He had no qualms about ordering that iris closed and letting Alar become another "impact event." He could even, he realized, live with the memory of the faces of the men he'd killed for Alar, that one brief glimpse of their shock burned into his brain.

He wasn't at all sure, however, how he felt about living with the idea that he'd lost the respect of his Second. Of Carter. Of. . .Sam.

"Sir?"

Jack started as her voice came out of the darkness behind him, almost as if he'd conjured her by just thinking about her.

_Oh, if only_, his still traitorous heart whispered to him.

"Sorry, Colonel. Am I disturbing you?"

Turning, Jack squinted into the darkness. "Carter? That you?"

It was nearly pitch black in his yard, even the moon was staying away tonight. Jack heard her make her way through the darkness and wondered why she didn't have a–ah, there it was. A tiny beam of light lit the ground at her feet and Jack watched as her sneakers approached. He appreciated that she kept the light pointed down, away from his face, allowing him to see the faint outline of her frame in the reflected light.

The sneakers stopped and the bright beam of her tiny Maglite came to rest on the cold firepit at Jack's feet. He watched her shuffle her feet then said quietly, "What's up, Major?"

The feet shifted again and then the light snapped off, leaving them both in darkness. "I, ah, well, Colonel, I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to. . .to talk with you."

"So. . .talk." _Here it comes._ Jack braced himself mentally. He'd wanted to know what she was thinking on the ramp, but now that she was here, he realized he really _didn't_ want to know. Maybe it was better not knowing. Maybe it was better if –

"Mind if I sit?"

Jack waved vaguely at the bench beside him and then realized she couldn't see that in the darkness. "Sit away, Major."

"Thanks."

Carter settled beside him on the bench, and he noticed she was very careful to avoid touching him. This time his sigh was silent and he felt his heart wilt a bit at the lack of contact. They sat silently, Jack willing to wait until she was ready to speak. After all, she'd come to him, so it was really up to her to start, wasn't it?

Finally he heard her take a long breath in. "No fire tonight?"

"What?" Of all the things he'd expected to come out of her mouth, this wasn't even on the list. "Oh, I. . ." Jack shrugged in the darkness. "Just didn't feel like it, I guess."

"Oh." She nudged a rock with her toe, then reached down to twitch the cushion she normally sat on a bit closer. "It's cold tonight."

"It is."

"Colonel, I. . .do you mind if I start a fire?"

He wondered if that's what she'd really been about to say. Then he wondered if he let her build a fire if she'd say what he didn't want to hear, whatever that was. Then again, if he said no, she might leave and he knew he didn't want that. Having an upset Carter here was better than having her elsewhere. Before he could speak, she did and Jack knew she'd taken his silence the wrong way.

"I'm sorry, I'll just go–"

"No. Sit. Stay." Jack grimaced, now he sounded like she was his spaniel. "I mean, sit for a second. I'll grab some logs." Without waiting, he stood and strode around to the back of the shed, not needing any light. He was in his own space, one he knew well, and didn't need anything to light his way. He grabbed two large logs and then reached low for the pile of tinder tucked up against the side of the shed. Returning to the pit he deftly piled the logs into place, placing the tinder inside, then reached for the small lighter hidden under a nearby rock. Two flicks later and a tiny flame jumped into the small firestarters he'd appropriated from the SGC. Those burned hotly, the flames licking eagerly at the dry wood above, then slowly, they climbed up onto the larger logs.

Glancing over at Carter, he saw that she'd slid from the bench down onto her regular cushion, her knees pulled up and her arms encircling them.

_Carter Self-comfort Position Number One_, he thought. Yup. Both knees up, arms held tightly around her legs, chin on one knee, eyes on fire. Check. All there.

For one brief instance he wondered if he should stay where he was, keeping the fire between them. Then her fingers tightened briefly where they were clasped around the front of her legs and his decision was made. Jack stood and brushed bits of dirt and grass off of his legs. "I'll be back in a minute, Carter." He waited for her nod before heading back up to the house.

Once inside he debated, coffee or beer? A brief gust of wind slipped through the still open door and he decided. Grabbing two mugs he filled them with water and set them into the microwave. While they were heating he stepped into the laundry room and snagged a sweater for himself and the sweatshirt he thought of as hers. The microwave dinged as he returned and Jack quickly stirred in two packets from the box next to the 'fridge.

He turned toward the door and then stopped. Carefully balancing the hot mugs and the clothes, Jack grabbed one more item before heading outside. As he approached the fire, he realized he needn't have rushed. Carter hadn't moved an inch.

"Here," he said as he reached the bench. "Put this on, the fire won't be enough."

"Thanks."

Jack nodded and sat down on the cushion beside her. He placed the two mugs on the flat rock before the fire and slipped on the sweater he'd brought down. It was one she'd given him for his birthday, he realized, as she looked over at him. He gave her a small smile and then gestured toward the cups. "Too cold for beer, but this should do it."

"Tea?"

"Hot cider." He turned and reached for the other item he'd brought down, a small bottle of spiced rum. "If you'd like, you can spice it up."

"No," she answered as she reached for her own mug. "This is good."

Jack nodded and put the bottle back. He wasn't all that fond of rum either, but he'd offered, thinking it might help Carter say what she needed to. For that matter, it might help him hear what she'd come to say.

"So. . ." He began, prompting her

"So. . ." Carter took another sip of her drink and settled deeper into her seat. This time, Jack felt her shoulder brush his and he was unaccountably reassured. "I wanted to talk to you, Colonel about today."

"Figured."

"I didn't want to say this at the SGC."

Jack's heart sank.

"But first, Sir, I wanted to apologize." 

"F-for what?" Jack was so surprised that he stuttered.

"I, um, it wasn't my intention to, well, I think I made it sound like you didn't know anything."

Carter raised her eyes to his and Jack just raised an eyebrow. He really didn't have any idea what she was talking about.

Seeing his confusion, she said, "When we were at dinner. I started to explain what heavy water was."

Jack raised a hand. "Ah. No. That was fine. In fact," Jack tipped his head. "I was pretty pissed at Daniel by that point and took some of that out on you."

"It's okay, Sir."

"No, it's not, but we'll call that even." Jack took a drink of his cider and leaned back, enjoying the warmth of the now merrily crackling fire. "That can't be what you came here to say, though."

"No."

After a long minute of silence, Jack tried again. "Carter, it's hard enough for me to communicate, don't you think the mind-reading stuff is a bit beyond me at this point?"

"Sorry, Sir. I just. . .it's just. . ."

Jack watched as she struggled for words. He braced himself. "C'mon Carter. Spill."

"I'm not sure I have what it takes."

Her words were soft, her voice low, and Jack wasn't entirely certain he'd heard her right. In fact, he was _very_ sure he hadn't heard her correctly. "Sorry, what?"

When she turned to face him fully, Jack's heart stuttered again, this time responding to the uncertainty in her eyes. Those wide eyes washed almost colorless in the flickering firelight.

"It's just. . .I was so focused on the_ science_," and her disgusted emphasis was clear. "That I missed things. Important things."

"No you didn't. I heard you at the command table when I was flying that last drone. I heard you asking Alar about the pipes to the surface." Jack shook his head and met her gaze. "You didn't miss anything."

"I did. I felt something was. . .off. . .but was still willing to trade. After all, it was just _water_, and they were going to give us so much."

"I was willing to do that too, Carter."

She nodded, but Jack felt as if she hadn't heard him. He watched as she turned away to stare into the fire and considered her words again. _I don't think I have what it takes._

"What's this really about, Sam?"

At his use of her name, she turned again to him, and Jack knew he'd been right. This was about the end.

"I don't know if I could have done it," she whispered, again turning her face away. "It's a constant struggle for me, you know." She flicked her eyes up to his. "The balance. Scientist and soldier. Most of the time I get to just be the scientist. I wonder, after things like today, if the soldier part of me has what it takes."

"Carter, you're the most able Second I've ever had," Jack began, but she cut him off.

"Sorry, Sir. But. . .no. I mean, thank you, but. . .today, you, you–"

"Coldly ordered a man's death?"

Carter's shock at his words was clear. She unfolded her legs and dropped them down, crossing them Indian-style as she turned her body to face his. "No. I. . .crap. You did what was necessary, Colonel. He was going to follow us, he _did_ follow us even when you told him not to. Knowing that he would, you did what had to be done." She looked down and her fingers played across the edge of her still-steaming mug. "That's the part I think I don't have."

"You've killed in the line of duty."

"Yes, but that's different. Today. . .what you did, Colonel–"

Jack held up a hand defensively. "Carter, I did what I felt was –"

She continued as if he hadn't interrupted "–one of the bravest things I've ever seen."

"–necessa– what?" Jack stopped as her words penetrated.

"I spent four years at the Academy learning how to be an officer. How to be a scientist. I spent another three years doing post-grad work, again, science. Yes, I've flown support over ground missions. I had to if I wanted to be an astronaut; I needed the flight time. All I ever wanted to be was an astronaut. The Air Force was my way to do that."

"And the SGC got in your way."

"No. I mean, yes. Sort of. This," she waved vaguely to the mountain that loomed behind them in the darkness. "This is the chance, the _career_ of a lifetime. But. . .sometimes I'm afraid that what I know, what I've trained for. . .that when it comes down to it, I won't be able to make that decision. As you did today."

Jack stared at her, speechless with surprise. She had not said a word to him in the debrief that was not in response to a direct question. When the team had changed and their duty day done, she'd left the base without a word to anyone. The shocked and then grim expression on her face had led him to believe that she was angry, or disgusted. Or. . .disillusioned. Never in a million years would he have thought she was doubting _herself_ because of his choice.

He'd been prepared for anything, he thought, but not this.

"Ca– Sam, what I did today wasn't brave. It was. . .necessary. A cop-out, even." Now it was he who fidgeted, his fingers picking at a stray thread hanging from his sweater. "What the hell would we have done with the guy here?"

"Letting another Hitler loose on our planet."

"Exactly."

"That's what I mean, Sir. Bravery isn't always about running into fire. Sometimes it's about standing up and saying 'no.' Or. . .closing a door. I don't know that I–"

"Sometimes it _is _better to shoot first and ask questions later, despite what Daniel might say." Jack wondered if Daniel would ever get that.

"I know. And in some cases, it's. . .well, not easy, but. . .clear. I mean, if Alar were standing in a mall shooting people, I'd have no trouble making a decision. It's just. . .when it was him running after us, trying to escape. . ." She shrugged again, clearly struggling to articulate something he wasn't certain she could.

"Sam," Jack looked at her. "I am one-hundred-percent certain that when it comes to it. . .and it will. . .that you _will_ be able to make the hard decisions. And. . .I believe that _because_ you are asking if you can do it. If you didn't have doubts, _then_ I'd be worried." He held her gaze, willing her to believe him. She met his unflinchingly, her expression similar to what he remembered from this afternoon, but now colored with hope.

"Thank you," she whispered. She looked away and then back at him. "And thank you for this," she tipped her head toward the fire. "I know it's. . .well. . .out of the ordinary to do this, but. . .thank you."

"Any time, Sam." Jack nudged her with his shoulder as he shifted closer to the fire. . .and to her. "I mean it. Any time."

Jack nudged another log onto the fire and poked it until it, too, was enveloped in the crackling blaze. Firelight danced across the yard, casting everything in an amber glow; its wavering light just kissing Carter's cheeks with warmth. He took a deep breath and surveyed his yard again. Despite the darkness of the night the evening felt brighter somehow.

And his heart was happy.

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note: _So_ sorry for the huge delay. I was on vacation (though the Panama Canal) and did absolutely no writing during my four-week semester break. Lots of reading but no writing. So. . .we're solidly off to Season 4.

About this story. I got into writing SG-1 fanfic mainly because if this episode. I remember thinking, somebody somewhere must have tackled that terrific moment at the end of the episode. Then I couldn't find a single fic. So. . .I started the _Campfires_, knowing that eventually I'd get to it.


	3. The Space Between

A/N: At end. Again, effusive thanks to Leiasky for her insightful beta work. You rock, lady!

Set after _Upgrades_, on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _A Tok'ra archaeologist arrives at the SGC with newly discovered technology built by a long-dead race called the "Atinique," giving SG-1 superhuman powers._

~ o0o~

_**The Space Between**_

~ o0o~

Sam carelessly nudged the log near her booted foot deeper into the fire, then leaned back to watch the sparks curl and spin into the rising night wind. She blew out a quiet sigh as she settled deeper into the pile of leaves she'd built earlier, trying to convince herself that she wasn't really hungry.

Again.

Despite Janet's assurances that all residual signs of the Atinique's armband-induced virus were gone from their systems, Sam found herself still reacting sometimes as if she still had the band on. Shooting a covert glance at O'Neill, she wondered if he felt it too or if her continued symptoms were a leftover "gift" from Jolinar. Or because she was a woman.

Wouldn't that suck? Her lingering. . .crap coming down to the simple fact of just having ovaries. Figured.

Sam barely glanced up as Daniel popped briefly back into the campsite, a tattered journal tucked under his arm and a small flashlight clenched in his teeth, enabling him to read as he walked and still gesture to the woman keeping pace with him.

"Wh' A'm fayin' iv–"

"Daniel."

"Hm?"

O'Neill jerked his head once and raised an eyebrow, the O'Neill equivalent of "Excuse me?"

"Hm? Oh." With a pop the flashlight dropped onto the open journal and Daniel waved the young woman forward. "Sorry. Colonel Jack O'Neill, Selara M'Naan. Selara, this is our leader, Jack O'Neill."

"Ma'am."

O'Neill rose and brushed off his trousers, Sam just a second behind. She smiled at the woman, noting that she wore a uniform similar to those she'd seen earlier. "Are you part of the defense, ah, cadre we met earlier?"

Selara smiled at Sam. "No, ah. . ."

O'Neill quickly filled in the blank, "Sorry. Selara M'n. . .M, this is my second, Major Samantha Carter. Carter, Selara."

Sam couldn't help it, she flashed her CO a quick grin at his mangling of the newcomer's name.

"M'Naan, Jack. Really." Daniel rolled his eyes. He touched Selara on the arm briefly, leading her away from the fire. "Selara's part of their scientific and exploration teams and she's going to show us, ah. . .me, I mean, the ruins on the south run tomorrow. We were talking about the similarities between our languages and I couldn't help but remember–"

"Daniel!"

Only slightly abashed, Daniel broke off and grinned at first Jack, then Sam and Selara. "Right. We're just back to grab my other journal." Daniel spun and strode toward the tent he shared with Teal'c, pulling Selara behind him.

"It's like the universe is his own, private place for play dates, isn't it?" O'Neill muttered as Sam resettled herself on her makeshift seat.

"Seems that way, doesn't it? He's always so eager to meet and explore. Sometimes it's like this is just one big adventure for him."

O'Neill stretched out beside her, pillowing his head on his arms and crossing his legs at the ankles. "If you discount the fact that the scum of the universe kidnapped and then killed his wife."

"Crap." Sam's whisper was loud in their silent corner of the campsite. How could she have forgotten? She jumped at a touch on her arm.

"Don't sweat it, Carter. I forget sometimes too."

Sam tucked her knees up and rested her cheek on them, facing her Colonel. "Thanks."

"Mm."

Silence settled around them as the night grew darker. Across the site, Daniel led Selara out of his tent and the two of them disappeared again into the larger archaeological compound the planet's natives had built. Sam idly wondered where Teal'c was. She looked around and realized that she hadn't seen him since he'd disappeared shortly after they'd set up camp.

"T's over with the younger soldiers."

"Thanks." It took Sam a moment to realized that O'Neill had responded to a question she hadn't asked aloud. She glanced down to where he lay, one arm crossed over his eyes, the other behind his head. "Um. . .Sir?"

"Don't have to be a rocket scientist. . .present company excluded, of course. . .to figure out you're tallying team members. We're all accounted for."

Sam was silent as she studied his prone figure, wondering once again about the undocumented side effects of their recent experience. "Colonel, are you experiencing. . .I don't know. Some side effects, still?"

"Don't think so. Why?"

The arm moved slightly and Sam could see the shine of firelight reflected in his still-hidden eyes. She dropped her knees and then rested her elbows on her thighs, propping her chin up on her fists. Shrugging, she answered him, "I don't know. I'm. . .well, I'm _starving_, and we ate only a short time ago. And I'm still. . ."

"Twitchy?"

"Yes."

"Me too." O'Neill sat up beside her and reached back into his kitchen bag. He pulled out two mugs and lifted one in her direction. At Sam's nod, he filled both with water from the pot near the edge of the fire and set them aside. He emptied a packet of coffee into his while simultaneously dunking a tea bag into hers.

Sam, meanwhile, reached into her own bag and pulled out a small Tupperware square. She opened the foil-wrapped package and split its single contents in half.

"Only half, Carter?" O'Neill passed her one steaming mug.

"Sorry, Sir. The kids in town seem to really like sugar."

"Didn't get them all amped up, did you?"

"No. . .well, not too much. No more than we all were the other night."

"Helluva shot you made at the pool table, though."

"Thanks." A gust of wind blew through the campsite and the tents rattled and fluttered in response. Sam wrapped her hands around her warm mug and savored the heat as it crept up her arms. There really was nothing like a nice cup of tea, even. . .she quickly calculated the distance in her head. . .64.8 light years from home.

Beside her, O'Neill poked at the fire once more before starting in on his dessert. "Saw Siler before we left. Doc says he'll be fine."

"Good." Sam knew that, despite knowing the other man would be okay, her Colonel felt bad about accidentally pushing the enlisted man over the railing. Wanting to distract him, she nudged his arm with hers and said, "Janet's reaction to all this was. . .interesting."

"Hammond said she went all alpha-male on Anise."

She turned to him, eyes wide. "Alpha-male?"

"You know, don't pee in my yard. . ."

"I'm pretty sure, Sir, that it was more like, 'don't hurt my cubs.' In which case, she'd have gone, as you put it, 'alpha-_female_.'" She paused and looked at him closely. "Kind of like you with Daniel in the bar."

O'Neill chuckled as he sipped his coffee and Sam couldn't help but join him as she recalled their excursion to—and subsequent ouster from—O'Malley's. The she remembered something else she'd wanted to ask him. "I was thinking–"

"'Course you were."

Even in the soft glow of firelight, O'Neill's smile was easy to see and Sam couldn't help but smile back, catching his gaze. "That night. After we were, um. . ."

"Kicked out."

"Asked to leave," she corrected, albeit gently. O'Neill snorted softly at her choice of words but let it go. When he raised an eyebrow she continued after a sip of her tea. "When we got back and crashed out, you disappeared. I mean later. I woke up restless and when I looked over, your bunk was empty."

"Ah."

Sam waited, munching on her half of her s'more pop tart, wondering if he'd answer her. She knew that when she'd awakened that night she'd been more than 'restless,' as she'd told O'Neill. She'd been about ready to jump out of her skin. Whatever it was in the armbands that gave them superpowers also enhanced. . .everything.

Every thought.

Every sensation.

Every. . .need.

Luckily for her, they also seemed to enhance Daniel's response to alcohol because he'd slept like the dead from the moment he'd his head to his pillow. Sam, on the other hand, hadn't ever felt more _alive_.

After thirty fruitless minutes of pacing and wondering about the absence of a certain Colonel, she'd sat down at her laptop and continued to write, knocking out another five hundred pages of theory-busting wormhole physics before deciding she was tired enough to sleep again. When she'd been awakened by the guard in the morning, she'd looked over to find O'Neill back in his bunk.

O'Neill set aside his half-empty mug and brushed away the last crumbs of his half of pop-tart. Sam watched as he fidgeted for a moment, then reached back to pull on his jacket. Without a word he pulled hers from her pack and tossed it over. "Gettin' colder, Carter. Better put this on."

"Yes, Sir." Sam sighed. Guess he wasn't going to–

"I went for a run."

"Sorry?"

"That night. I. . .damn, 'restless' doesn't begin to cover it. Twitchy. I was. . .it was. . .I woke up and the room. . .it. . .I could smell y–. . . I had to go. To get out. So," he shrugged, the fabric of his jacket rustling with the movement, "I figured if we could sneak out for dinner, I could sneak out for a run."

"Oh." Sam blew on her tea and nudged another log deeper into the fire. The Colonel was right, it _was_ getting colder. She hunched deeper into her jacket and sat silently for a few moments. "Where'd you run?" She looked up to see a sheepish expression cross O'Neill's face.

"The Academy."

"The Aca–" Sam sat up straight. "Sir, that's. . .that's over twenty miles. One way."

"Yup." This time his expression held just a hint of smugness. He turned toward her, his brown eyes sparkling as he teased, "What's the matter, Major? Jealous?"

"Hardly. I would have done that with you, you know."

O'Neill's good humor suddenly vanished and he turned back toward the fire. "I do," he said softly. "And that's why you couldn't."

"Sir?"

O'Neill didn't answer. Instead he picked up a larger log and tossed it onto the fire with more force than was perhaps strictly necessary. Sam watched as his expression hardened and wondered where she'd gone wrong in the conversation. One minute he'd been teasing her and the next. . .

"Colonel?"

"Daniel ever tell you what it says on those armbands?"

Now Sam was really confused, but she went with the sudden change in direction. "Um. . .no, actually. I haven't read his report yet, so, no."

"'With great power comes great responsibility.'"

"Okay." Sam paused and then tipped her head as a long-forgotten memory came forward. "Wait, isn't that what Peter Parker used to say?" Despite her confusion over the change in topic, Sam couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped at the dawning look of awe on her CO's face. She'd surprised a genuine smile out of her Colonel.

"Carter, you read. . ._Spiderman_?" He asked in an almost reverent whisper.

Her smile echoed his as Sam shook her head. "No, not really. Don't forget, Colonel. I have a younger brother. A younger brother who loved to be read to, especially when he was sick."

O'Neill simply stared at her, his expression indecipherable as another memory surfaced and this time Sam blushed. Grateful for the darkness that hid her flushed skin, she remembered an episode of _The X-Files_ when Scully casually identified an aircraft and Mulder quipped that 'suddenly he was really turned on.' And just like that, a light bulb went on in Sam's head.

Oh.

He'd awakened that night just as 'restless' as she had.

_Twitchy_, he'd called it.

_Oh._

Then he'd gone for a run.

Without her.

Very softly, O'Neill's voice reached her. "It was. . .ah, not Peter Parker. It was his Uncle Ben. Uncle Ben said it first."

"Oh, right." She still didn't look at him.

"So. . .that's why."

Now Sam turned to him. "Why, what, Colonel?"

"Why I ran alone."

O'Neill's brown eyes were locked on hers and Sam was caught. She could see in them what he wouldn't say out loud.

_Couldn't_ say.

And she sighed. There it was again. That. . ._thing_. . .between them.

Sam pulled her gaze from his and turned toward the fire, her thoughts whirling, spiraling out of control. That day, in Apophis' mountain, after their armbands had fallen off. There'd been a moment, a flash. She'd stood and he'd met her at the force shield. He'd crouched down and begun banging at it with the torch handle.

It wouldn't budge.

Behind her, Sam had heard the echo of boots as heavy feet tramped down the corridor toward her. She'd turned and yelled at him to go.

And for an instant, in the space between heartbeats, she'd seen. . .something as his eyes locked with hers.

Then the world had fallen on them.

She knew she was pushing when she spoke again, but. . .it was almost like nudging a sore tooth. Like being a kid and testing to see just. . .how. . .far. . .you could push. Maybe it was the last vestige of a virus Janet swore was gone from her body prompting her to recklessness. Very softly she said, "The General said that we were all under the influence of an alien technology." When he didn't respond she pushed a little more. "I think he called it a 'solid defense.'"

"Sam. . ." A gentle warning.

Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Sam tried to avoid his gaze. He shook his head and waited, and she knew he wouldn't speak until she looked at him. Reluctantly, afraid that everything she'd bottled up for three and a half years would be there for him to read, she lifted her gaze to his.

His eyes were warm, open, reflecting the dancing light of the fire before them. "I wonder, sometimes, how often we can use that 'alien influence' thing?"

"And?" One last step toward that line.

"Sam. . ." This time it was a plea.

Again, in that fleeting microsecond between heartbeats, he asked and she answered. His soft entreaty wrenched at her and Sam closed her eyes and looked away, taking a long mental step back from the line-that-must-not-be-crossed. There was power, she realized, and then there was. . ._power_.

In this case. . .with this man. . .Sam finally understood that _she_ had power.

And the responsibility to use it well.

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note: There's a great deal of debate about the origin of that "great power" line, some quoting the bible, others saying it was FDR from a speech that he was going to deliver at the Jefferson Day Dinner in 1945. FDR died the day before but a line from his speech was, "Today we have learned in the agony of war that great power involves great responsibility." (From Nothing to Fear, ed. by Ben D. Zevin). That said, I like the idea that Sam knew it from _Spiderman._


	4. Asking is Okay

A/N: At end. Thanks, as always, to Tammy for an exceptional (and clarifying) beta on this story.

Set after _Crossroads_, on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _Teal_'_c is reunited with his lost love, Shaun_'_auc, a woman who claims to have found a way to communicate with her symbiote and defeat the Goa_'_uld. SG-1 joins forces with the Tok_'_ra in order to put her plan into effect, but a deadly, hidden secret could jeopardizes the operation._

~ o0o~

_**Asking is Okay**_

~ o0o~

_SGC  
Sam Carter_'_s Lab  
1656 Local (MST)_

_Sam bit her lip as she listened to the young officer sitting before her. Lieutenant Danning was trembling as she spoke, each word seeming to fall reluctantly from her lips. As her eyes filled again with tears, Sam reached blindly behind her and snagged the box of tissue next to her monitor. _

"_Here,_"_ she said, keeping her voice soft, not wanting to stop the Lieutenant once she_'_d finally begun speaking. She wished she_'_d thought to close the door when Danning had come in, asking haltingly if the _"_Major had a moment._"_ Sam really didn_'_t want anyone to just pop in—a shadow in the hallway caught her eye. As though her thought had summoned him, she glanced up to see a familiar figure framed in the doorway and, despite the pleased twinge that raced through her midsection at his appearance, knew she had to send him away._

_The Colonel opened his mouth and then froze as he caught Sam_'_s miniscule head shake. He flicked his gaze from Sam to the huddled form of the junior officer perched on a stool before her. Catching Sam_'_s gaze, he raised an eyebrow in question._

_Careful not to draw attention to him—or their nonverbal conversation—Sam silently promised him an explanation later. When his eyes tightened in response, she again felt a warmth spread through her. God how she loved. . .that they could speak this way._

_With a last tilt of his head, O_'_Neill reached forward and silently pulled closed the door to Sam_'_s lab, leaving it just slightly ajar. Sam knew that would be enough to keep all but the most tenacious intruders out._

_As the door swung closed, Sam focused her attention once again on the tearful officer before her._

~ o0o~

M3D-316  
15Km ESE of Stargate  
Base of Ancient Ruins  
2115 SGCST (SGC Standard Time)  
Just past sunset, moon rotational time.

"Carter?"

Sam started at the sound of O'Neill's voice. Looking up at the frustrated and slightly puzzled

expression on his face, she realized it probably wasn't the first time he'd called her name. She glanced guiltily around to see if anyone else had noticed her lapse. Their campsite was quieting down and she could hear muffled discussion coming from the adjacent site. Everyone was settling in for the evening. Looking across the fire, she saw that thankfully both Daniel and Teal'c were focused on their own conversation, and the group her Colonel had labeled "the science geeks" were oblivious. . .as usual.

As she regained her bearings a steaming mug of appeared before her eyes and Sam blinked in surprise. She reached automatically to take the mug from him, sniffing and appreciating the warm aroma of. . .chocolate?

She looked over at O'Neill as he settled himself beside her and he shrugged. "Seemed like a good night for it."

"Yeah."

"So," he said, stretching his legs out before the fire. "What's up?"

"Up, Sir?" Sam sipped her rich, chocolately drink.

"Up, Carter." O'Neill waved vaguely with his mug and then turned his brown eyes on her. "Up. . .as in, not down."

Sam hesitated. She thought again of Danning's problem and knew that she was out of her depth. The problem was, that asking for help meant opening a can of worms she wasn't sure she could stomach. Danning had insisted that she was okay with Sam speaking to O'Neill about it, but still. . .Sam knew that once she took this next step, heads would roll.

On the other hand, she couldn't stand the thought of seeing a good officer. . .ruined. . .by what was happening. She sighed, blowing across the top of her still-steaming mug. Either way, she was afraid that Danning's career would be over. At least at the SGC.

Beside her she could feel O'Neill's frustration, though he was keeping it fairly well hidden at the moment. She glanced at him and opened her mouth to speak when Daniel spoke up across the fire.

"Jack?"

"Daniel."

"I'm going to head back over to–"

"Geeksville?"

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"J–"

"O'Neill." Teal'c's deep voice cut through Daniel's predictable response. "I, too, can be found at the other site. There is someone with whom I wish to speak."

Sam looked up to where Teal'c stood, a still form in the deepening darkness. "You okay, Teal'c?"

"I am, indeed, Major Carter."

He offered her a slight bow and Sam knew he was responding to both the question she'd asked and what she had not. It had been barely a week since his return from the weeklong burial services on Chulak and Sam knew that he was still deeply hurting following Shaun'auc's murder. She wondered why he felt the need to go to the other site, though, there was nothing here to remind him of her. Sam turned to Jack, silently asking him what was happening.

Jack glanced at her and, after studying her face for a moment, turned back to Teal'c and nodded. "Fine, T. Do me a favor? Take the leftover gee– er," he glanced again at Sam and then amended his statement, "ah, _scientists_ with you."

Teal'c nodded again and stepped away from the fire without a word, clearly expecting the others to follow. Sam bit back a smile as Daniel tapped Doctors Sorel and Grader on the shoulder, waving them after Teal'c's rapidly disappearing form. When they were gone, Sam turned to O'Neill.

"What's up with Teal'c?"

"Got me."

"Hm." Sam settled deeper into her seat, enjoying the warmth of the blazing fire Teal'c had built earlier. She shifted slightly, enjoying the brief contact of her Colonel's arm against hers. Her enjoyment was marred, however, as she thought again of Karen Danning. Karen didn't have the luxury of enjoying innocent. . .mostly. . .contact with her CO. Nothing about her situation was anything she could enjoy.

O'Neill idly poked at the fire, his attention seemingly on his task, though Sam knew he was focused on her. Sometimes she wondered if he _could_ hear her thinking.

"I can hear you, you know."

"Sir?" She couldn't help it, the word came out an undignified squeak. She cleared her throat, but before she could say anything, he turned to look at her and just shook his head. Not even a real headshake, just a slight twitch.

Sam held his gaze, reveling in the strength and support she saw there. The night deepened around them, bringing with it a dampness that should have permeated everything, but. . .for a time, was held at bay. Deep, throaty calls from the toad-like creatures ranging on the edge of the nearby stream punctuated the silence, adding to the bright snap and crackle of the fire before them. The power of that brown-eyed stare was an almost tangible thing, and Sam realized just how much she depended on that strength.

"I. . .I need your help."

O'Neill kept his gaze on hers as he leaned back and turned to face her. He resettled himself and just waited.

Sam set aside her hot chocolate and turned toward him, her legs crossed. She fidgeted, twisting her hands in her lap, trying to figure out where to start. A second later she reached forward and picked at the laces of her boots, winding them around her fingers in an absent twisting motion. Twice she opened her mouth and twice she changed her mind. The silence between them grew until she was sure her tension was visible. She almost jumped out of her skin when hands reached forward and gently untangled her fingers from her bootlaces.

"You need my help. . .to strangle your bootlaces?" He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and then released her. "I think you've done the job. . .Sam."

That broke the tension. Sam shook her head and took another deep breath. "You know how we have this place," and she gestured toward the fire, "where it's a. . ."

"Penalty-free zone? Yeah."

"I need that to happen now. . .Sir." She couldn't quite bring herself to use his name as he had hers, though she knew that here, in this place, it would be okay.

"Always. Wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

"Okay." With a last deep breath Sam told him everything. "Have you met Lieutenant Danning?" She caught his eye and shrugged. "Right. Sorry. 'Course you have. Anyway. . ." And Sam dove in, telling him everything Danning had shared with her. The stalking, the harassment, the unending phone calls. The threats and the latest thing, the assault. Through it all, O'Neill sat silently, his unwavering gaze on hers, the only outward sign of his reaction was the gradual darkening of his expression. When, finally, she was done, Sam sat quietly, waiting for his response.

And waiting.

After several more long moments, she ducked her head and then leaned forward. He was staring at her, but his expression was blank. Eerily blank. Tentatively, Sam lifted a hand and reached out to rest it on his arm. "Sir?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

O'Neill blinked and then seemed to refocus on her. When he spoke his voice was low and Sam could feel the anger radiating from him. Could feel the vibration of it under her hand. "Does the Lieutenant. . .does Karen," he amended, "know who it is?"

This time it was Sam who held his gaze, willing him to calm down. "Yes."

"Did she tell you?"

"Yes."

"And you're not volunteering that because. . .?"

"Because. . .she came to _me_, Sir. I'm her section head, she works for me."

"Carter, she's a member of the SGC. She works for the United States Air Force."

"She's a member of _my_ team, Colonel."

"And you, Sam, are _mi–_ a member of _my_ team."

"Sir," Sam took a deep breath, suddenly aware that her hand was still on his arm. She knew she should remove it but she really didn't want to. "Sir, part of the problem is that the. . ._person_. . .doing the. . .causing the problem is part of–"

"Are you telling–" O'Neill cut her off. "This guy is _a member of the SGC?_"

"Yes."

"Carter!"

"Sir!" Sam reared back at the expression on his face. "Karen was pretty sure it was. . .the person. There was nothing to really tie him to all of it. It's not like he signed his notes."

O'Neill scrubbed his hands through his hair, then dragged his hands down his face. "But," he mumbled as his hands passed his lips, "She's sure?"

"Yeah." Sam dropped her elbows to her knees and rested her chin on her fists. "Since the assault yesterday–"

"And by 'assault' you mean. . .'"

"He threw something at her in the parking lot."

"He hit her?"

"Missed. Scared her, though. Badly."

"Did you report it?"

"She did." Sam grimaced. "The OOD took the report and said he'd speak to. . .the person. She felt like it, the report, wouldn't do more than make the guy angry. . .angri_er_," she amended, emphasizing the last syllable. "Karen's offworld with SG-4 for a week, so I'm not worried about her. For now."

"Guess that eliminates anyone on SG-4. So, Car–" O'Neill scrubbed his face again and then mimicked her pose, resting his hands on his knees and leaning forward. "Sam. . .you said you needed my help, but you won't tell me who it is."

"Yes. And. . .no." She gave him a small smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. "I don't want you. . .or Teal'c, or Daniel even, just going and kicking this guy's ass."

"I could, you know." He paused and cocked his head. "And so could you, for that matter."

"I know."

"And I would."

"Yes, Sir." And this time Sam's smile grew. "I need to know how to handle this. I mean, I know we can report him, we can bring him up on charge, we can do the whole 'book tossing' thing at him, but, I want to solve this. . ._creatively_. I want it to _never_ happen again. You know how the SGC rumor mill works" She exchanged a small smile with him, they both knew only too well just how effective the base gossip-line was. "I want everyone to know that this sort of thing will not be tolerated." She ducked her head again and then met his eyes. "Doing it officially could and would be messy. We both know that. So, most importantly, I really want to make sure nothing happens to Karen. She didn't ask for this, she doesn't deserve this."

"Nobody does."

"True."

"That day in your office. . .she was telling you. . ."

"All of it. Yes, Sir." Sam sighed and shifted in her seat, aborting her first urge to fidget again with her laces. "She's convinced that it's her fault. I've tried telling her that it wasn't, that none of Coo–" she sucked in a breath, "uh, the guy's actions are her fault."

O'Neill was silent for a few moments, long enough for Sam to glance up at him, uncertainly. "What else?" He rumbled softly.

"Sir?"

The Colonel took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. "This sort of thing. . .it usually just makes you mad, Carter. Not. . ." He waved at her hunched figure and fidgeting fingers. "Not. . .whatever it is you are right now."

Sam felt her jaw drop slightly at his words. As they sank in, she straightened up, her fingers loosening their hold on each other. He was right. She'd internalized Danning's issue and. . .and. . .oh, wow. She realized that she was feeling as trapped and hunted as Karen Danning was. And she thought she was long past that.

Some of what she was feeling must have shown in her expression, because O'Neill nodded slightly and leaned toward her. "This wouldn't happen to you, you know."

"Why, because I'm strong? Karen Danning's pretty strong, Sir. And she's caught in this _mess_ that she had no part in making."

"It wouldn't happen to you. . .because. . .well, just because." O'Neill backed off, his color rising as he flicked his gaze away, then back to her.

Sam met his gaze again and felt her heart stutter at the expression on his face.

Fierce.

Protective.

Loving.

"It did," she whispered. "Happen to me. Remember?"

O'Neill's expression changed again as he clearly remembered the team's experience with Jonas Hansen. And what he'd learned after. "That bad?"

"Yes." She shrugged, trying to pass off her experience. "'Course, I _was_ engaged to the guy."

"Doesn't mean you asked for it."

"True."

"Still. . .the _same_ sort of stuff happen to you?"

"Worse."

"Damn." He cocked his head to one side. "Sorry."

She ducked her head for a moment, then looked up at him. "So," she said, trying to take the focus off of her past. "What do I do?"

"We."

"Sir. . ."

"We, Sam. It's _always_ 'we.'"

"Oh."

"Don't forget it." He rubbed his hands together and reached for his coffee cup. "So. . .here's what I think. . ."

And together they worked out a plan, brilliant in its simplicity, but effective. One, Sam hoped, which would prompt Karen's tormentor to request a transfer to. . .Russia worked for her. Sam felt her confidence rise as they talked, appreciating more than once the devious brilliance that made her CO's who he was.

As they wound down, Sam felt the tension drain away. It was really dark now and they'd let the fire burn low as they'd talked. She hunched down deeper into her seat, suddenly aware of the cold and damp now that they were silent. She leaned forward and tossed another log on the fire, then watched as her Colonel poked and rearranged the log to his satisfaction. She allowed herself the rare luxury of simply watching him as he fiddled. Watched his long fingers as they held the branch. Traced the contours of his face limned in burnished firelight.

She wanted to say something to him. To let him know how much it meant to her that she could come to him and that he wouldn't think she was weak.

"Colonel?"

"Hm?"

"At the risk of sounding. . .whatever, I really appreciate knowing I can go to you and say 'help,' and that you're there."

"I meant it, Carter. Always."

He poked a few more times at the fire and then settled back again, crossing his arms and legs and watching the rising flames with an air of satisfaction.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know. . .if I'd known you then. . .or him. . .I'd have kicked his ass."

"I know."

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note: As I've said in the past, I process things by writing. I had an incident this week that made me be Sam. I went to a trusted colleague and mentor and said, "help." In fact, Sam's line about appreciating the she could do so with Jack is just about what I said to my mentor.

This wasn't the promised _Pi_ story. That'll come after I complete my doctoral qualifying exams (which cover the next two weeks).


	5. Divided We Fall

A/N: This one was co-written by Leiasky, check out her other stuff here at ffdotnet. Other A/N at end.

Set after _Divide and Conquer_, on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _When a member of the SGC tries to kill a Tok'ra, it is revealed that O'Neill and Carter may be Za'tarc's, a new kind of Goa'uld mind control._

~ o0o~

_**Divided We Fall**_

~ o0o~

P8G-274  
Four hours past sunset (local time)  
2355 SGCS (SGC Standard Time)  
SG-1 Campsite

_As Sam had for him, the Colonel was standing just behind and to the left of the Tok'ra, carefully watching the monitor._

_Freya's next question broke into her thoughts. "And . . . what were you feeling when you realized that Colonel O'Neill would not leave?"_

_Sam's gaze flickered to his and then back to Freya. She carefully avoided looking at either Janet or Teal'c. "I . . . " she swallowed hard. She'd had to prompt the Colonel when he'd hedged, and now she found herself wanting to do the same . . . hedge . . . evade . . .. Again she looked to him and this time her eyes caught his._

_And held._

_The lines at the edges of his eyes tightened and he gave the faintest of nods. Sam held onto his warm gaze, taking the lifeline that he offered as she answered. "Angry. Panicked. Frightened."_

"_Why?"_

_Now Sam returned her attention to Freya, her anger at this exercise, this charade flaring. "Why?"_

"_Yes," Freya calmly looked at her over the console of the machine that would determine Sam's fate. "Why."_

"_Because I knew I was about to die. I could hear them coming behind me." Sam shuddered slightly at the memory of those echoing footsteps. "I knew that they could bring down the force shield and that they'd kill me, then kill . . . him."_

_Sam heard O'Neill shift and saw him glance down at the monitor, a slight frown on his face. He looked up at her and gave a tiny head shake._

_Damn._

_Freya glanced at O'Neill and then up at Sam again, her eyes tightening along with her lips. _

_Sam braced herself. Here it came . . . _

"_Major Carter, you must be completely truthful here. Is that the only reason you were angry and frightened?"_

"_I . . . yes. No. I couldn't . . . I hated that he would have to see me die." Now that she was rolling, she couldn't seem to stop. "I hated that he would die because of me, but mostly I hated that his last memory would be watching a teammate die. And . . ." Sam caught his gaze again as she whispered, "I was angry that he wouldn't leave."_

"_Why." Freya was implacable._

"_Because . . . because . . . I knew that he was making the choice to die with me, and . . . a small part of me was angry with myself for being grateful that he'd be there with me in the end." Her gaze still holding his, Sam felt more than saw his response. _

_Again his eyes flicked to the monitor and again he gave the tiniest of head shakes as the deeper voice of Freya's symbiote came to the fore._

"_Major, you must have more to say. Why would you want a teammate, your commanding officer, to die with you?" Anise's hollow voice echoed through the room._

_Steeling herself, Sam dove in again, opening herself up to those feelings that had so swamped her, threatened to overwhelm her then . . . just as they were now. "I didn't want my _commanding officer_ to die with me. I didn't want him to die at all." _

_Her eyes slipped closed for a moment, but almost as quickly came open again. She could almost hear him telling her to look at him. She instead locked her eyes on the body hosting Anise. "I . . . if I was going to die, and I _knew_ that I was, I . . .." Despite her resolve, Sam's gaze slid helplessly over to his and she read in them everything she was trying not to say out loud. Everything that he'd said and more. And that gave her the strength to whisper, finally, "If I only had seconds to live, I wanted to spend them with him."_

_His eyes widened fractionally in surprise and then he flicked his gaze to the monitor. Sam watched his shoulders relax slightly._

_Thank God._

_Freya's eyes flashed and this time the lighter voice of Freya came through, an impatient and somewhat cutting edge to her tone. The Tok'ra, it seemed, was not satisfied. "Why would–"_

"_No." The Colonel's quiet word echoed through the room and grabbed everyone's attention. He lifted his chin and pointed it toward the machine. "I can see as well as you that Carter's swirly stuff is in the blue zone. You're done."_

_The Tok'ra opened her mouth, but stopped as Teal'c, rising from his seat above them in the control room, bumped something . . . loudly. Freya nodded sharply before she said, "You are also not a Za'tarc."_

"_Thank you," Sam muttered with thinly disguised disgust, her heart pounding so loud she was certain the mic's in the room would pick it up._

_The words had barely left her lips when the Colonel was stepping forward and reaching for the restrictive band across Sam's head. As Freya began to dismantle her machine, the Colonel said quietly, "Carter–"_

_Sam interrupted him. "Sir . . . None of this has to leave this room." She held her breath, feeling his own brush her cheek as he stood before her. _

_Finally his eyebrow rose slightly and he said, his voice still low. "I don't think so . . .." He gave her fingers a quick squeeze as he stepped back. "I think we need to talk, Sam."_

_Numbly Sam stared at him, searching for something she could say that wouldn't incriminate them more than what had just been said. She held his gaze even as Janet and Teal'c entered the room, feeling as if the Earth were tilting off of its axis._

"_Sam? Sam, hey . . ."_

~ o0o~

"Sam, c'mon." The voice was more insistent, and Sam jolted awake suddenly.

"Wait . . . no. That's not how it happened," she muttered, then felt the jolt of disappointment through her entire being as she wished her dream were more like reality.

"Huh?" Daniel's voice penetrated her sleepy haze and Sam swiveled in her sleeping bag, cursing as her legs became further entangled. "That's not how _what_ happened?" Daniel squatted down and peered at her owlishly through his round glasses. "Hey, you okay?"

Rubbing her eyes sleepily, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yes. I'm fine. I'm up." She looked past him toward the fire. "My watch?"

"Near enough." Daniel stepped back so she could exit the tent. "You were having a bad dream or something, so I though I'd wake you a little early."

"Oh." Sam reached back into the tent to grab her jacket and then paused. She looked around the small space. No Colonel. Turning to Daniel, she shrugged into the jacket and quietly zipped it, her eyes searching the campsite.

Daniel, following her gaze, answered her unasked question. "Jack's in with Teal'c. Asked me to switch." He met her gaze and tipped his head sideways. "Any idea why?"

"No. Maybe he wanted to switch things up."

"Sure."

Sam stretched her neck and shoulders as she walked the perimeter of the fire, careful to not look at it directly, preserving her night vision. She waved once to Daniel before stepping into the trees to take care of business before her watch. A minute later she was back, and she settled herself against the cliff wall that served as their camp's effective windbreak. Absently, she watched Daniel putter as he put aside his things in preparation for his rest, then she turned away, her attention on the woods around them and her thoughts on the events of the week before.

_Why_ had her dream been different this time? She'd relived those final moments of the Za'tarc test every night since then. The dream of the testing room broken only be the more horrific reliving of running into the Gateroom to find Martouf, his body riddled with bullets, begging her to shoot him before he blew himself, and who know how many others, into pieces. Despite the warmth of her field jacket, Sam shuddered.

"You okay?"

Sam looked up to find Daniel beside her.

"Sure."

He crouched before her and offered her a steaming mug. "You didn't eat much tonight and you went to bed right after dinner."

"I'm tired, Daniel. It's been a rough week."

"I know." He laid a hand on her knee. "Janet asked me to check on you. Make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine." Sam kept her eyes moving around the campsite, her ears sharply focused on the night sounds around them. She loved Daniel, but at the moment she really, _really_ wanted him to go to bed.

And again, like a sharp knife, Sam felt the pain shoot through her.

Daniel would be going to bed soon, in her tent.

The tent she should be sharing with O'Neill.

"Daniel. I'm fine. Go to bed. And when we get back, tell Janet . . . never mind. I'll tell her myself." Sam gave her friend a long look. "Please?"

Nodding, Daniel stood and turned away. "Okay. 'Night Sam."

"'Night."

She turned away as he slipped into her tent . . . into the wrong tent. And this time she didn't fight the small sigh that escaped.

She'd done the right thing. Told O'Neill that none of what they'd said needed to leave the room. It was for his protection as well as for hers. She knew Teal'c would say nothing and, after a short chat with Janet, knew the doctor was on board too. The first rule of command was that "if it wasn't written, it didn't happen." Therefore, nothing went into the reports.

Which meant . . . nothing happened.

For one wild second Sam thought of the old myth about the diary of England's King George in which he supposedly wrote, "Nothing of importance happened today," on the day the colonies declared their independence.

Sam's "nothing happened" was as insubstantial as the myth.

As momentous as the event that was not mentioned, and thus . . . had not happened.

But . . . it _had_.

Already there was a change in how they interacted. The Colonel had "explored" while she and the rest of team ate. When she came near the fire, he stepped away. She found herself doing the same to him.

It was stupid, really. This dance. It wasn't like suddenly saying the words . . . and really, what had they said? That he "cared more than he was supposed to?" What did that exactly _mean_, anyway? _We're entitled to our feelings, aren't we? As long as we don't _act_ on them. _Shaking her head, Sam shifted slightly, realizing that she'd tensed up every muscle in her body.

Why did things have to change? Why, if they'd both agreed to leave it alone, did he rearrange the sleeping assignments? The watch schedule?

Why had Sam hesitated and then set aside the Tupperware that served as their s'more container?

_Because . . . because . . . damn it all. And damn the Tok'ra too_, she thought angrily, wincing a little as she realized she'd lumped her dad into that pile. _ Oh, God . . . Dad._ Who knew what Freya would share with the council? Sam shook her head and sighed into the darkness.

Sometimes she could really get behind the Colonel and his uncompromising hatred of the Tok'ra.

Sam flashed again on the words she'd finally whispered to end the testing. _If I only had seconds to live, I wanted to spend them with him._ She let her head drop into her hands with a soft groan. _I can't believe I said that. Out loud. _

As soft snore echoing through the campsite told her that Daniel had dropped off and Sam lifted her head again, forcing her attention back to her surroundings. Great. To add to her misery she had to sleep next to a snoring Daniel.

_Damned Tok'ra._

As the night wore on, the events of the last week continued to swirl around Sam's head. Images flashed before her.

The Colonel as he looked back at her while he was escorted down the hall to be "fixed" by Freya.

Martouf.

The Colonel's face as he recounted the events that led to Lieutenant Astor's suicide.

The pain of reliving those endless moments in the hallway, waiting for the Jaffa to round the corner and blast her . . . and him . . . to hell. And that soul-shaking moment when they'd both frozen and she'd seen it in his eyes. Everything she felt for him reflected back.

Terror.

Elation.

Fear.

Pain.

Love.

She'd known for a long time that she loved O'Neill more than she should. More than was proper. More than was allowed. She'd had flashes in the past that he felt the same, but to see it. To _feel_ it in that moment. And selfishly, to know that when she died she'd do so looking into his eyes . . . Sam let her eyes slip closed for just a second in remembered pain.

"Sleeping on the job, Carter?"

Sam's eyes snapped open at O'Neill's soft voice. God, she hadn't heard him approach.

"No, Sir. Of course not." She glanced at him, peering through the dense blackness of the night. She could tell from his tone that he hadn't thought she'd been asleep, but . . . where once there would have been a teasing lightness to his question, now it seemed . . . flat.

She lifted the cover of her watch and lit the indigo backlight. "It's, ah, early for your turn, Colonel."

"It is." O'Neill settled himself beside her, and she noted that he was careful . . . very careful not to touch her.

Since it was still her watch, Sam didn't move. She shifted slightly away to give him more room, then froze at his quiet, "Don't."

"Sir?"

"Carter . . .."

She watched as O'Neill silently fiddled with a lump of dirt and rock. He picked it apart and crumbled the brownish fragments between his fingers. He looked up once in a while, squinting and frowning toward the tents, then back down again. Finally, Sam could take it no longer.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Talk to me."

O'Neill tossed the last of the rock away and jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. "You know our . . . 'thing'?"

That zing shot through Sam again. "Th– Our . . . ah . . . ?"

Waving toward the glowing embers of their earlier fire, O'Neill clarified. "The 'home-base,' zone."

_Oh, that. _She nodded. "The 'no never-minds' and it's okay to speak freely? That thing. Sure."

O'Neill sucked in a long, deep breath. "I don't wanna lose that. You know?"

"You don't?"

"I don't."

"But . . . then why . . .." Sam swallowed. "Colonel, _you_ rearranged the watch schedule. You . . . um . . . you put Daniel in with me."

"I did."

Turning to face him, she studied what she could see of his features, chiseled by the dim light of the fire. "I'm confused."

"So'm I, Carter."

"Oh."

He absently pulled at a leaf dangling from a small twig at their feet. She was suddenly annoyed by the distraction. He had a purpose in coming to her and she wished he'd get to it already. Take that step so she could follow.

"She kissed me."

Sam blinked a few times in rapid succession as she mentally changed gears to follow him, her brilliant mind fumbling for the identity of the unnamed woman.

"Uhm."

"Anise. Freya. The snake's . . . body." O'Neill shuddered slightly.

A wave of horror swept through Sam and she was grateful for the darkness that hid her jealous disgust. No wonder Freya had pushed to continue the 'interrogation.' "Oh."

"_So_ not how I expected that day to go."

"Understatement, Sir."

The poor, harmless leaf was shredded little by little by his long fingers. "That room–"

"Yeah." She couldn't help the flicker of hope that sparked from the single word. A single, fragile flame.

"We'll open it one day."

A promise.

Relief swept through her. She leaned back and let the flickering flames warm the growing smile. "Yeah."

Accepted.

~ o0o~

End.

~ o0o~

Author's note(s): As I said above, this one was co-written by Leiasky, she fixed my broken mojo.

I've said before I think there are setups to the romance/resolution, then major "resets" along the way (_BTS_ is a HUGE setup and the aftermath a HUGE reset, for example). Originally this post _D&C_ fic was to be a reset, but I couldn't make that happen. This did instead.

Second note: Kudos to _Xena_ fans who can pick out the paraphrasing of one of the most beautiful lines in a television love story.


	6. Loopholes

A/N: Thank again (as always) to Leiasky for the great beta and the tightening up. Brilliant as always.

Set after _Window of Opportunity_, on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _O'Neill and Teal'c are caught in a time loop in the SGC, and must relive the same 10 hours over and over again. During this "looping," O'Neill figures out that there are some things he can do with absolutely no consequences._

~ o0o~

_**Loopholes**_

~ o0o~

P4R-604

15 km ENE of Stargate

Two hours past planetary sunset

16:50 SGC time

Jack O'Neill sat hunched near the campfire, idly listening to the quiet conversations of his team as they settled in for the evening. He occasionally poked at the fire with the stick dangling from his long fingers, but his attention was not wholly on his task. He sat, one elbow on his raised knee, his chin propped in the palm of his hand. Across the crackling blaze sat Daniel, his nose buried in his journal, another book open and in danger of falling from his lap. Beside Daniel was Carter, muttering to him and occasionally pulling the tattered journal closer to make a small notation in either it or the small notebook she, too, had propped on her raised knees. She had a flashlight clenched between her teeth as she wrote; clearly the light from the campfire wasn't enough to illuminate whatever profound inspiration was striking at the moment.

Behind him, Jack heard Teal'c as he made his nearly silent way through the camp. He knew the Jaffa would have been making another round of the perimeter of their campsite, but Jack wasn't too concerned. They'd been on the planet for nearly a week, a very long time for SG-1 to remain . . . at least willingly, and there had yet to be any sign of recent inhabitation. They'd been held against their will for longer, but for a survey mission, well, that usually wasn't his team's thing. Though, lord knew his team needed a lighter mission, which was why Jack hadn't argued at drawing this assignment. As he watched Carter squint again at her notes, Jack reached around and tossed another log onto the fire, poking at the embers until the flames grew enough to cast a brighter light. She flicked her gaze up at him and flashed him a dazzling smile in thanks before returning to his work.

Jack felt his heart stop.

Then start again, at a much faster pace.

He looked quickly away from her, focusing his attention back on the fire, his attention light years away. The memory of sweeping her into his arms in the control room was still fresh. So fresh that he felt himself responding, and he carefully shifted his position to keep that response from being noticed by anyone else.

Of all the times he'd kissed her in the loop, he was sure nothing would surpass that first time.

~ o0o ~

_Jack strode confidently up the last two steps into the control room, not at all uncomfortable about being there dressed as he was. He stepped up beside a stunned General Hammond and nodded._

"_Excuse me, George."_

"_Colonel, what are you doing out of uniform?"_

_At his words, Carter snapped her head around, her eyes widening in shock as she took in Jack's unusual attire. His baggy trousers, long-sleeved yellow shirt and, to add that little bit of flair, the beanie cap. He raised an eyebrow at Carter and turned to Hammond. "Handing you my resignation."_

"_Resigning?" Sam stood in shock, turning to face him. "What for?"_

_Jack looked her square in the eye. "So I can do . . ." he checked his watch one last time, "_this_." Jack wrapped his arms around her, and in a move he was certain was worthy of Rhett Butler himself, smoothly swept her into a low dip, his lips firmly planted on hers. He felt first her surprised stiffness and then her almost instantaneous relaxation into his arms. She trusted him to hold her and to not let her fall._

_Then she reached up and slid her arms around his neck, giving herself fully up to the moment . . . and to him. And Jack was lost. The texture and taste of her was overwhelming. The smell of her, the feel of her arms around his neck, of her body held tightly to his, and he was . . . was . . . _

_Back in the commissary, facing Daniel's expectant gaze, his body still alive with the memory of her touch._

~ o0o ~

Jack shuddered as once again the sensation of that first time swept over him. This time his motion did not go unnoticed.

"Colonel?" Carter's voice was soft as she sat beside him. "Are you okay?"

Startled to find her beside him, Jack reared back in surprise before he caught himself. How'd she get from the other side of the fire to over here without him noticing? Damn. He shook his head, then stopped as her expression grew more concerned.

She placed a hand on his arm, her fingers tightening slightly. "Sir?" She kept her voice low, clearly not wanting Daniel to notice his apparent illness.

The warmth of her hand on his arm while his body was still remembering that first kiss and the many others that had followed was almost Jack's undoing. He gently pulled his arm free, giving her a small smile to ease any sting his pulling away might cause. "I'm good, Carter. Just . . . dunno. Tired I guess. Twitchy. We _have _been here a while."

Looking as if she weren't completely convinced by his answer, Carter nonetheless leaned back, lifting her knees and resting her chin on one knee. "Getting restless for some action?"

_Oh, you have no idea_, came unbidden to Jack's mind before he could help himself. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Something like that."

"Well, we're about done here, I think. The readings I got today confirm what we thought about the mineral deposits. And, really, there are enough gem signatures on the scanner to generate a great deal of income on Earth, if we dared bring some back to cut and sell."

When Jack looked at her, she raised an eyebrow. "Hey, something's gotta pay to keep the gate running, right? I'm pretty sure we wouldn't saturate the market, but there's got to be a way to fund some of our operations with finds from other planets."

"Find any gold yet?"

Carter snorted softly, reaching behind her to fish in her bag. She pulled out a small tea bag and reached for the mug he'd set there earlier to warm. "No. I'm sure the Goa'uld have taken what was available from any place they could."

After she'd dropped her tea bag in to steep she automatically pulled out another packet and began mixing some coffee for him. Her movements were unconscious, he was sure, but he couldn't help the warmth that spread through him of the simple domesticity of the act. He had done the same for her earlier during dinner, making her meal and tea and setting it beside her without a word. She'd simply nodded and begun eating, offering him a brief smile on thanks. He did the same now as she handed him his steaming mug.

"Thanks." He took the mug, carefully keeping his fingers from touching hers. "Probably to make more gold lamé. They do seem to love the stuff."

"Colonel, you don't make–" She stopped and tipped her head at him before offering him a small smile. "Funny, Sir."

Jack shrugged, glad his body was finally settling down again. "I try."

They sat in silence, Carter sipping her tea while he tried to pretend the coffee she'd made had been freshly brewed and not stirred out of a packet. As much as he loved these quiet interludes with her beside any campfire offworld, the biggest drawback was the lack of _real_ coffee. He glanced at her firelit profile beside him, her expression uncharacteristically relaxed and free from the everyday tension that was so often present, and he decided that the tradeoff was worth it.

Another hour passed before Jack spoke up. "Daniel."

"Jack?" Daniel didn't look up from his notes.

"If you're on the early watch, you might want to turn in."

"Huh?" Daniel looked at his watched and yawned. "Wow, didn't realize it was so late." He glanced around as he packed up his things. "Teal'c out there somewhere?"

Carter gestured with her chin to the south end of the campsite. "Just beyond those trees."

As Daniel peered into the darkness, Jack couldn't squelch the small zing of pride at his Second. _He'd_ known where Teal'c was, of course. He'd heard the Jaffa's nearly silent progress around the site until he'd found what Jack figured was the optimal place from which to watch both the campsite and the surrounding area. He hadn't realized Carter was that aware too.

Not that Jack didn't know or trust her skills. After three and a half years as a team, they all knew each other's strengths and weaknesses well. Very well. But . . . well, sometimes she surprised him, his brainy Second. And he loved when she did that. Caught him off-guard with a new twist on a strategy or plan, offered a new approach to an old idea, or showed a field battle sense that spoke of experience and quiet confidence.

As much as he would love to take credit for it, Jack knew that Carter's growth as an officer wasn't due in any way to him. If anything, he was showing her how _not_ to follow orders. But, in the end, she was an officer whom he was proud to have under his command, all other . . . _things_ . . . aside.

Daniel stuffed his last book into his bag and stretched, yawning again. He tipped his head back and looked up toward the sparkling night sky. Carter was already doing the same, apparently lost in thought. Jack glanced from one to the other, then joined them in their stargazing and letting his body relax in the stillness of the evening.

"Sometimes . . . you know, when we're all caught up and getting . . ." Daniel's voice trailed off.

"Shot at?"

"Yes, Jack. Shot at." Daniel threw him a glance before returning his gaze to the diamond lights dancing above them. "Sometimes I forget . . . you know . . ."

"How beautiful it all is." Carter's voice was soft beside Jack, and he wondered if Daniel even heard her.

"Yeah. Sometimes it's nice to just . . . look at it all, and remember why it is that we do what we do."

"So other people can do this."

"Yeah."

Jack listened to the two talk, content to observe them both as they contemplated their place in the universe. Or, at least in this galaxy.

Daniel leaned back further, crossing his arms behind his head, still looking up at the stars. Jack watched as Carter did the same and then shrugged. _Why not?_ He, too, rocked backward, carefully aiming his feet away from the fire, now burning low enough to not impede their view of the glistening night sky above them. As Daniel and Carter had, he crossed his arms behind his head, resting his head on the palms of his hands. His elbow bumped Carter's, but when she didn't pull away, he left it there.

The damp smell of the night air mingled with the earthy smell of the loamy turf on which they'd built their campsite, and Jack could occasionally smell the light, strawberry scent of Carter's shampoo. All the scents blended to further relax him, and Jack tuned in to the night around them. Insects large and small sang their songs into the quiet night, and occasionally a distant howl echoed in the hills beyond, reminding them that there was other life on this planet. Jack was falling into a light almost-doze when Daniel spoke again, his arm lifted toward the northeast sky.

"Sam, how can that bunch of stars look like the Big Dipper?"

Jack followed Carter's gaze toward where Daniel was pointing and he saw what Daniel meant, although . . . "Daniel, if that's Big Dipper, it's facing the wrong way."

"It's a coincidence" Carter spoke up. She pointed to the southern sky. "Down there is a bunch that looks like the Southern Cross."

"Huh," Daniel sighed. "I've always wanted to see that."

"Well, now you can," Jack quipped. "And it only took . . . Carter?"

"Five hundred-thousand light years," she supplied.

"Right. Five hundred . . . _thousand_? You're kidding."

"Sir," Carter turned to face him. "Do you _ever_ listen during the briefings?"

"Sure I do." Okay, he mostly listened to _her, _but . . . anyway. He shot her a small smile and turned back to Daniel. "So, it took a three second, five hundred thousand light year trip" he repeated with a wry smile in her direction, "to see it." He waved a hand, "G'wan, enjoy it."

Daniel's snort covered Carter's soft chuckle, and both sounds warmed Jack through. He, too, began to examine the bright configurations above him and noticed various patterns here and there. In fact, one of them looked just like . . . where had he seen that before?

Daniel's arm came up again and he pointed out another constellation near where Jack was focused. "That one looks a lot like Cassiopeia.

"I was just thinking that," said Sam.

"The one next to it looks like another one, but I can't think of the name."

"It's Cygnus." Sam's voice was softer, as if she, too, were drifting off.

Jack frowned, he was sure he'd seen that constellation recently, though he hadn't been stargazing a lot lately. Not with the time loop and all that went with catching up with the rest of the galaxy. It didn't matter. He felt himself relaxing as the two talked, his mind wandering and his body going still as he drifted slightly, secure in the presence of his two scientists and solid Jaffa companion.

Daniel rose and brushed off his trousers. "You know what's funny? I have freckles on my leg and they look just like Orion."

Carter raised herself on her elbows. "No way."

"I do, look." Daniel glanced down and frowned. "Remind me when we get back, I'll show you." At Carter's silence, he added quickly, "It's just above my knee."

"That's kind of neat."

"I always thought so." Daniel bent to grab his bag and stepped around the fire to say goodnight. "What about you, Sam? You're much more freckled than I am. Got any interesting patterns?"

"I don't think so. Never really looked, actually."

"Sure she does," Jack muttered sleepily. "Got a swan on the back of her neck."

Total silence fell over the camp, broken only by the occasional snap of the dying flames. The sudden silence brought Jack to full alertness, though he didn't move. What had . . . _oh . . . crap._

_Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. _

_Double-crap._

He slowly raised his head and looked first to Daniel and then to Carter.

Daniel's eyebrows were raised so high that Jack could clearly see them over the frames of his glasses. Carter lay frozen, propped up onto her elbows, her face turned toward him. Her blue eyes were wide and for just a second, Jack wasn't certain she was breathing.

"Um, okay." Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose, glancing quickly between the two of them. He tossed a thumb over his shoulder as he backed quickly away, then offered a sharp nod and walked quickly toward the tent he shared with Teal'c.

How long Jack stayed there, his eyes locked with Carter's, he didn't know. He was relieved to see that she was breathing, though when he looked closer, he could see her nostrils flare slightly.

_Uh oh, flaring nostrils. Probably not good._

_Or . . . maybe good. _

_But . . . no. Probably not._

Jack sat up, careful to not touch her as he did so and he kept his gaze carefully on hers, as if her were suddenly faced with a trapped animal. The silence was deafening and finally he couldn't take it any more. "Ah, Carter . . . "

He stopped as she abruptly moved, sitting up and crossing her legs, resting her elbows on her knees. She propped her chin up with her closed fists and just stared at him, her expression calculating. Jack schooled his expression as carefully as he could, concentrating on keeping his features relaxed and calm.

_Don't think about the kiss. Don't think about the kiss. Don'tthinkaboutthekiss!_

_Don't think about sweeping her into your arms. In the control room. In front of Hammond._

_In the hallway._

_In the commissary._

_In her lab._

_In her quarters._

_In his quarters._

_In the gym._

_In the infirmary._

_In his office._

_In Hammond's office._

_In the Gateroom._

_In the elevator. _

_Oh . . . the elevator._

For one fleeting instant his composure slipped as the memory of _that_ particular instance rocketed through his body. That was the one that had convinced him to stop. To go back to solving the problem. A lot more would have happened in a great many other places . . . and in more depth had he not stopped after the elevator.

He hadn't taken that particular elevator since.

Jack knew the exact moment she figured it out. Her eyes narrowed slightly, then widened. She slowly lifted a hand to her neck, running her fingers lightly over the skin above her collar. He watched her movements, unable to tear his gaze away. As she touched her neck, she kept her eyes on his, her face expressionless. Finally, Jack could take it no more. He carefully reached across the space between them and wrapped his fingers around hers, guiding her hand to the right position. Just below and behind her left ear between the back of her neck and the carotid artery, then he slid her fingers down below the collar of her shirt and stopped just at the curve of her shoulder.

He didn't need to see it to know he was in exactly the right place. He had seen that tantalizing arrangement of freckles the third or fourth time he'd kissed her in the loop, nuzzling his way down her neck, and every time thereafter. He'd known instantly what constellation it was, because it so suited her.

Cygnus.

The Swan.

He'd visited it every loop after that. Until the elevator.

Now he saw it only in his dreams.

He pulled his hand away, leaving hers in place, his eyes on hers and waiting for her to say something.

Anything.

"The loop?" Her voice was low, with barely any inflection.

"Yeah."

"Do I . . . do I have any . . . _other_ . . . constellations that you're aware of?" She asked flatly.

Again, her voice was low and Jack was on pins and needles trying to interpret her tone. He slowly shook his head. Her face breathing hitched and her eyes darkened dangerously. Jack hastened to add, "I don't know. I never . . . we, _I_, didn't, ah . . ."

The tightly coiled tension that had gripped her slowly slid away and Jack felt himself go slack with relief. Something flickered in her eyes and he added, "Carter, I–"

"No."

He stopped, waiting for her to say what she needed to say. She wanted off of the team. She didn't trust him. He'd betrayed her. He hadn't thought of it like that in the moment and she'd never responded that way when he'd kissed her. Each time. In fact, as he'd moved the moment back earlier and earlier in the time loop, she'd objected when he'd _stopped_, and wouldn't _that_ little sound of protest stay with him forever?

Jack forced himself to focus as she studied him, her attention as deep and searching as when she was trying to divine the secrets of some ancient technology, and he tried not to analyze that parallel too closely. The fire burned low, down to embers before she spoke, and her voice was so low that he had to lean close to hear her.

"I'd wondered, you know. When Daniel asked you. And from the look on your face, I'd wondered." She pulled in a long, shuddering breath. "I wondered, too, what _I_ would have done, had I been in that situation."

"Carter, we'd have looped once and you would have fixed it."

She raised an eyebrow and said quietly, "Don't be so sure of yourself. Sir," she added the honorific just long enough after for him to realize he'd been put oh-so-gently into place. And then he wondered to which thing she was referring.

"Um, sure of myself about . . ."

Carter shifted, raising her knees and wrapping her arms around her legs. She stared into the glowing embers of the flames for a while, then tipped her face toward his, her cheek resting on her knees. "I may have figured out _how_ to fix it sooner, but that doesn't mean I would have . . . _done_ it right away."

It was Jack's turn to freeze, and he stared at her. "Ah."

"I guess we'll never know."

"Guess not."

The night wore on around them as they sat together staring at the orange heat chasing shadows around the superheated coals of the remains of the fire. Jack was pretty certain he'd dodged a bullet on this one, but a part of him was wondering what happened next. Carter knew. She _knew_ he'd crossed a line and taken advantage of a situation . . . of _her_ . . . and she'd admitted that she might have done the same.

Where did that leave them?

As the small moon rose over the jagged peaks to the west, Carter glanced at her watch and then sighed. "I'll go relieve Teal'c."

She rose and brushed the dust off of her trousers. As she stepped away, Jack couldn't resist. He reached to snag her wrist and then stopped, calling out to her instead. "Carter, are we okay?"

Her face hidden in shadow, she answered softly, "Yes." She reached down to grasp the hand he'd lifted in her direction, tangling her fingers with his.

His heart stuttered again.

"The Swan? Really?"

Now a faint note of warmth colored her tone and Jack heard the undercurrent of humor in her question.

His fingers tightened on hers and he said softly, "Yes."

She tugged and Jack let her pull him to his feet, knowing he needed to get some rest before his turn at watch. As he got to his feet, she didn't move, so that when he stood she was near enough that he could feel the heat of her before him. She gave his fingers one last squeeze and turned to pick up her jacket and weapon before stepping out of the faint light of the fire to relieve Teal'c.

Jack watched her go, thinking of the long and graceful curve of her neck and how appropriate it was that she had a constellation to match forever branded on her skin.

And in his memory.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): I got nuthin.'


	7. Waterlogged

A/N: A/N at end.

Set after _Watergate..._. Episode synopsis: _SG-1 joins forces with a Russian scientist to investigate a previously unknown Stargate in Siberia, linked to a mysterious water planet. The team must venture via submarine to the water planet, where they encounter an unexpectedly terrifying alien presence that just might destroy them all._

~ o0o ~

_**Waterlogged**_

~ o0o ~

Earth

Colorado Springs

Jack O'Neill's backyard

1854 SGC-Standard

"I'm thinking of putting in a pool."

The Colonel's words startled Sam out of her reverie and she looked up at him, wondering at his non sequitur. He glanced at her and then over to where Cassie and Daniel were busily shooting each other with the large water guns Teal'c had discovered on a recent trip to the store. Both teen and anthropologist were thoroughly soaked, as were significant portions of the back porch. Teal'c was nowhere to be seen.

"A pool?" She tipped her head and studied his yard. It was certainly large enough to accommodate one, but... "Um, why?"

O'Neal sat down beside her and began stacking the wood he'd brought over earlier. He was precise and efficient in his movements, and Sam couldn't help but watch him. She really did love his hands. Long, almost elegant hands, they were nimble and strong, and she was sure they could do just about anything... Abruptly shaking her head, Sam felt a sudden heat rise up her cheeks.

_What the heck is wrong with me, lately?_ Over the past few weeks she'd been having more and more of those types of thoughts. One innocent comment or movement from him and her mind would go...where it most certainly should _not._

"Bad idea, eh?"

"Huh?" _Of course it's a bad idea. I shouldn't be...oh. _Still flushed, both from her inadvertent fantasy and embarrassment, Sam turned to him, floundering for something coherent to say.

"The pool?" O'Neill raised his eyebrows at her. "You okay, Carter? You're all red and I haven't even gotten the fire started yet."

_Oh yes you have_, came unbidden to her mind before she could shut it down. _Stop it! _Trying to recover herself, Sam looked away from his concerned brown gaze, trying to spot Janet. "Um, why would you put in a pool, you're hardly ever here."

"Dunno. For Cassie, I guess." O'Neill looked a little uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I guess Janet's yard is a bit small for that."

"Small for what?" The doctor in question appeared beside them, laden with drinks for everyone. "Colonel, I hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and poured for everyone. " She set the tray of steaming mugs on the picnic table behind Sam. "We've got coffee or hot chocolate."

"'Course I don't mind." O'Neill wave a hand. "Mi casa, and all that."

"Thanks." Janet settled into the least rickety chair on the other side of the firepit, automatically seeking out and finding her daughter and Daniel where were now cornered against the porch and mercilessly being fired upon by a smiling Jaffa. "So, Colonel. What's small?"

_I'll bet it's not sm– Oh man,_ Sam thought. _Why is everything anyone saying today coming out dirty in my head?_ She shook her head again and rubbed her forehead.

O'Neill looked at her before turning to answer Janet. "I was thinking of putting in a pool. You know, for Cassie." He looked at Sam again. "Sure you're okay, Carter?"

"I'm fine, Sir. Just...headache I guess." She immediately regretted her words when Janet immediately rose and came around the now merrily crackling fire. Before the doctor could touch her, Sam leaned back, bumping into O'Neill as she did so, which did nothing to bring down her skin temperature. "Really, Janet. I'm fine. Got some water in my ear earlier during the water fight, I think.

Janet frowned but refrained from reaching out, though Sam saw her hand twitch. "Okay, but...if that headache gets worse, you let me know." When Sam frowned at her, Janet stared back. "I'm not thrilled with the medical care SG-1 received from the Russians."

"Fine," Sam shrugged. "I will."

"I'll hold you to that, Carter."

_Hold...hold...hold you..._. Crap. Jumping to her feet, Sam turned and strode toward the house, making an excuse about needing to go to the bathroom, unaware of the open-mouthed stares of her CO and her friend behind her. The minute she stepped through the sliding doors, she realized she'd made an even bigger mistake. The house smelled overwhelmingly of _him_, making it even harder to get him out of her head.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ Her inability to reign in her thoughts and...impulses...was beginning to frighten her. She'd begun having odd dreams after the team's experience with the time loop and wondered if it was a side effect of that. Fractured images, feelings and, more recently, one or two of the hottest dreams she'd ever experienced. She was surprised by that last, she'd never been one to really fantasize, but these night- and day-dreams had been so clear, so..._vivid_... Sam shuddered again. As she walked through O'Neill's house to the bathroom, she flashed back to the one from just this morning.

~ oOo ~

_Sam signed in, nodding to the duty Sergeant at the desk near the elevator that would take her down to the SGC levels. She smiled as she noted that she was just minutes behind O'Neill. She checked her watch, pleased that she had enough time to stop by the labs before heading to her own office. She wanted to check on–_

_As the doors closed behind her, she froze. The familiar smells of the base's equipment mixed with the subtle scent of whomever it was who'd ridden in the car before she'd come on, assaulting her senses and paralyzing her. It smelled like...oh, God. _

_She shook her head as she was assailed by the oh-so-familiar scent of O'Neill's aftershave, mixed with the metallic tang of the elevator, the recycled air of the base's ventilation system, and the faint scent of her own shampoo. All of them combined to form a swirling, twisting almost-memory in her head. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to catch the fragment of memory whispering through her mind, echoing a particularly . . . . graphic . . . dream from the night before._

_Sam sagged against the wall as her body responded to remembered . . . or dreamed . . . touches. _

_Kisses._

_Caresses._

_The fain whisper of words chased themselves tantalizingly around her head, just out of reach of her understanding. She reached to steady herself against the wall, only vaguely aware of her hand shaking. of her breath coming in short gasps. She was overwhelmed by it all. The scent of . . . oh, God. Him. She could smell him._

_And her._

_And . . . them._

_She let out a faint moan as her other hand came into contact with the wall, blindly reaching out for something, anything to ground her. Her legs started to give way from the overwhelming scents and sensations assaulting her._

_She nearly jumped out of her skin with the doors opened again behind her and she saw the duty Sergeant peering in at her. "Major? You okay? I noticed the elevator hadn't gone down and–"_

_Pulling herself together, Sam nodded. "I'm okay, Sergeant. Just distracted, I guess." She gave him a quick nod and punched the number for the floor that would take her to her own lab. The other results could wait. She needed to find a place to think for a bit._

_Mostly, though, she just needed to sit._

~ oOo ~

Sam emerged from the bathroom to find her Colonel lounging against the opposite hallway wall.

"What's goin' on?" He asked in his most no-nonsense voice, his keen brown eyes carefully searching hers for some sign of distress.

His expression was serious and Sam knew she'd have to give him some answer or he wouldn't be satisfied. Worse, he might sic Janet on her and that would be troublesome on more than one level. Thinking quickly, she finally said, "Just thinking about Dr. Markova."

O'Neill's face twisted as it usually did when they were discussing the Russians. Or the Goa'uld. Or the Tok'ra. Or any other group or person he didn't much like. He waved her down the hallway and followed a few paces behind. "What about her?"

They stepped outside and Sam noticed that night had fallen quickly. It always did when the sun settled behind Pike's Peak, but sometimes the rapidity of the darkness caught her off guard. She waited for O'Neill to close the doors, and together they walked slowly toward the firepit. "She was so upset when we found her team. I can't imagine what she must have been feeling."

"Yeah."

Sam dropped to her cushion between the picnic bench and the fire. She slid her knees up and rested her chin atop one, while she wrapped her arms around her legs. Across the fire Janet was handing Cass a set of dry of clothes and sending her up to the house while Teal'c and Daniel took turns squirting the remainder of their water into the fire. O'Neill quickly grabbed Cassie's discarded weapon and joined them, the three of them beginning an impromptu target practice game. Janet caught Sam's eye and shook her head at the guys' behavior before relaxing back in her chair, her coffee mug cradled in her hand.

Sam watched her guys, a small smile playing across her lips. Teal'c, the big, bad Jaffa who had most of the base personnel either on pins and needles or on a pedestal–and was firmly wrapped around the finger of one young teenager. Then there was Daniel, her brother in all but blood, complaining that the sight was off on his water gun as Teal'c and the Colonel consistently outshot him on their targeted log.

Her gaze shifted to O'Neill.

~ oOo ~

_Leaving Daniel to stare pensively out of the front bubble of the submersible, Sam joined Dr. Markova. "Can I help at all?"_

_When Markova looked up, her eyes were damp with tears and her expression so bleak that for a moment Sam couldn't breathe. She glanced over her shoulder at Daniel, who was now peering intently at the ruins around them and scribbling on a scrap of paper he'd pulled from somewhere._

"_Dr. Markova," Sam waved to the still smoking panel. "Can it be fixed?"_

_Markova sniffed. "Please, call me Svetlana. Or Svetla if you prefer. This," she gestured to the part in her hand, her Russian accent thicker than earlier. "This is nothing. I am sorry to have alarmed you, Major. I...it was just..." Again her eyes filled with tears and Sam couldn't help but reach out and touch the other woman's arm._

"_Call me Sam." She thought of the bodies of the men they'd seen as they'd exited the wormhole, as well as those at the Russian base. "I am sorry," she offered. "For your friends. Your comrades."_

"_Yes," Svetla sniffed again. "Comrades indeed." She handed Sam a small circuit board and a soldering iron. "Can you reattach here...and here?"_

_Grateful for something to do, Sam nodded. The two worked together in silence for a few moments, before the Russian spoke again. "I am sure I do not seem very 'Russian' to you, Major."_

"_Sam," Sam reminded her. "And there is nothing wrong in mourning lost friends."_

"_Sam." Svetla nodded. She kept her eyes on her work and continued speaking, her voice low, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "I do not understand it. Why would Misha decide to open it? What could have made him–" She choked back another sob, brushing almost angrily at her tears._

"_Svetla..." Sam set the circuit board aside. "Misha...he was...you were close?"_

"_Yes." Svetla turned her face toward Sam's. "Misha...Mikhail Sarkalov. He was in charge."_

_Sam could only keep her eyes on the other woman's, offering what support she could, while Markova spoke._

"_He was...we were...what is your word? Bespoken? Betrothed?"_

"_Engaged?"_

"_Da, yes."_

"_But," Sam couldn't help herself. "He is, was, your...I mean, you were his second in command."_

"_I was." Markova reached for the circuit board Sam had soldered. She sent Sam a weak smile and gave a shrug that was, to Sam's experience, purely Russian in its expressiveness. "What are you to do, Sam, when your heart decides who to love?"_

_Sam dropped her gaze from Svetla's, remembering O'Neill's soft 'Be careful,' as the submersible had slipped through the gate. The tiny camera hadn't allowed her to see his eyes clearly, but she'd felt his concern, and the warmth of his voice in her ear one last time had stayed with her. _

_Markova snapped the cover back place, jarring Sam from her thoughts. The Russian scientist looked over at Sam, her expression still solemn. "It was he...his body...whom we saw when we first came through."_

"_Oh, God." Sam blinked back tears. "I am so sorry, Svetla."_

_With a deep sigh, Markova nodded. "Thank you." She peered up at Sam. "And, I, too, am sorry if our arrogance in our own endeavor keeps you from your own Colonel." _

_Sam blinked and shook her head. "Oh, he's not, I mean–"_

_Markova turned in the small space and looked Sam in the eye. "Major, doe not forget. I have read every mission report, every scrap of information available on the SGC, including you and your team." She stopped and paused. "Like any good scientist, I have become just as adept at reading what is _not_ written as much as what is."_

_When Sam shook her head again, Markova pressed on, an almost desperate urgency to her tone. "We are not so different, you and I. I recognize more in your reports than you might ever understand." She turned back to her repairs. "I have read your work and you have read mine. Let us not mince words. We are, both of us, women of tremendous knowledge and ability. We are also in a unique position to know and understand the mysteries of the universe but to also know and understand the deeper mysteries of life...and of love." She glanced again toward the glass bubble that gave a view of a world long dead. "Do not waste what you have. Your knowledge, or your opportunity. One will last, one can be taken in an instant." She turned away from Sam and bent low into the compartment. "Now, please excuse me, I must check another circuit."_

_Sam nodded, giving the woman the space she'd requested. There was nothing more to check, she was sure. She was more certain when she heard another muffled sniffle come from the bottom of the small space. Backing out of the niche, she stepped to the console, hoping she could find some answers there._

~ oOo ~

"Okay, Carter, that's it. What's wrong with you tonight?" O'Neill's exasperated voice cut through Sam's memories and she blinked, coming back to herself.

"Sir?" She had no idea how much time had passed, but Cassie was back, sitting next to her mom and happily roasting marshmallows. The smell was tantalizing. Daniel and Janet were chatting and Teal'c was silently sitting nearby, leafing through a book Cassie had brought him. Sam turned to O'Neill, who was peering at her, a concerned expression etched on his face.

His voice pitched low, O'Neill leaned toward her. "You've been distracted and out of it all evening. You sick?"

"Shh," Sam glanced over to make sure Janet hadn't heard. "No, I'm not sick. I'm just...Svetla, Dr. Markova, she shared some things with me and...it just got to me, I guess."

"Kind of creepy how she knew all about us."

"Yes, but really, with Mayborne involved, not surprising."

O'Neill poked at the fire, stirring up the coals. He shrugged when Cassie frowned at him, smiling when she readjusted her roasting position. Sam watched the interaction, then leaned her cheek on her upturned knee, her face toward O'Neill. In this position she could pretty much watch him, guilt-free.

Okay, maybe not guilt-free, but without anyone commenting. It's not like anyone was going to monitor which way her head turned. The fire blazed as he poked it again, illuminating his chiseled features. The straight line of his nose, falling to his full lips. Not as puffy-full as Daniels, that was obvious. But still...just right.

Sam had long ago given up on denying how she felt about her CO. Why spend her energy in denial to herself when that energy could be better put to use hiding it from the rest of the world? Svetla's words came back to her and Sam couldn't help wondering how successful she actually was at hiding it if the Russian scientist picked up on it after just a few hours' acquaintance.

O'Neill picked up his coffee mug and brought it to his lips, and Sam had to bite her own lip to stifle a groan. The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of coffee, Jack O'Neill, campfire smoke, and s'mores. All scents that combined threatened to send her to places she really shouldn't go.

Couldn't go. Especially not here.

She closed her eyes and just let the smells and sounds of the night wash over her, savoring the few things she _was_ allowed to indulge in when it came to him. To them. For she knew how he felt too, thanks to the damned Za'tarc's.

"So...Markova and Sarkalov, huh?"

Sam's eyes snapped open and she found O'Neill's face close to her own. He was mirroring her position, creating a private space for the two of them amidst their friends. Their family.

Sam, too, glanced across at their friends. If Janet had noticed their conversation, and Sam had no doubt that she had, she was keeping Cassie occupied for the moment; she shot her friend a grateful glance before turning back to her CO. O'Neill's expression was blank, perhaps too carefully blank, and Sam wondered if he was fishing or if he knew.

"Wh– what do you mean?"

The Colonel shrugged. "During our search we found his quarters. Saw some photos." He studied her face for a moment and then said softly, "It wasn't too hard to figure out from her reaction at the console, either."

Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them and Sam nodded. "His was the first...body...we saw on the other side."

"Damn."

Sam pursed her lips and kept her eyes on his. O'Neill flicked a gaze across the fire to the rest of the group, all of whom were engaged in a game of Scrabble now. He leaned closer until his elbow was touching hers. "You okay?"

Blowing out a long, slow breath, Sam considered her answer carefully. "Yes. I think . . . I- I would rather be there if . . . if something were to, ah . . .." She swallowed hard. "Coming back to the SGC to find–" She couldn't finish

"I know." O'Neill increased the pressure of his elbow against her arm.

"When we were on the mini sub, and the glass shattered, I thought, 'Oh, God, this is it. And then I thought . . . I thought . . . well, then, nothing happened. Nothing until Daniel stuck his hand _out_, into the water."

"_Touching_ things again."

Sam continued as if she hadn't heard him, her eyes on his but her thoughts back on the planet. "And then it just . . . just _sucked_ us in. And for one second all I could see was all that water, and I thought, 'at least Svetla gets to be with her Misha,' but then I was angry because I wouldn't–"

Again she stopped. It was one thing to admit in the stark reality of a life-and-death position how you felt about someone . . . about your CO, but another to continue to talk about it. To _not_ leave it in that room for unpacking later. They'd agreed to keep it there for his protection and for hers. For the team.

For the greater good.

_For . . . for how long, though?_

Svetla's words came back to her._ "Do not waste what you have. Your knowledge, or your opportunity. One will last, one can be taken in an instant."_ Sam caught O'Neill's eye and shifted her arm so that hers was resting atop his. She moved closer and leaned against him slightly. "Is it worth it, do you think?"

"What?" His voice was soft, almost intimate, and his eyes never left his.

She nudged him slightly, then glanced at the others, conveying with just a glance how they kept these small, intimate conversations just between them. How they came so close to that shifting line but never crossed it. How it might be possible to be together if they didn't serve together, at least on the same team.

"You said it, Sam. You'd rather be . . . there . . . if something happened. Same goes." He held her gaze, his eyes boring into hers. "If it means having each other's back each time we step through that gate, then yes. It's worth it." He offered her a ghost of a smile. "For now."

"For now," she echoed. She yawned and checked the others. "I do have one request, though."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Can we go to a few desert planets for a while? I've enough water to last me for a while."

O'Neill poked at the fire, sending up another shower of sparks and flashing Cassie a brief smile before turning back to Sam. He gave her a rare smile, his eyes sparkling with a light that stole her breath.

"So . . . No pool then?"

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Thanks, as always, to Leiasky for the amazingly clarifying beta.


	8. Pest Control

A/N: A/N at end.

Set after _The First Ones_ on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _Dr. Jackson is taken captive by an Unas while on an archaeological dig. The SGC mounts a rescue operation, but discovers a danger of their own._

~ o0o ~

_**Pest Control**_

~ o0o ~

P8T-686  
8Km ENE of Stargate  
Base Camp  
Mid-watch  
5 Hours past sunset, local time

"Damn, I think I . . . _crap_." O'Neill's voice carried to Sam where she lay stretched out near the fire. She sat up and looked over at him, then jumped up to help him sit. He was struggling to not put any weight on his arm, which was swathed in bandages.

"Sir?"

"Erg . . . no, I'm good, Carter. I, _damn_."

This time his words were laced with pain and Sam glanced down at his bandaged arm, noting the fresh blood staining the once white bandaging. "Sit still, Sir. I'll get Janet." O'Neill's good hand on her arm stopped her.

"Carter, no. I don't want to wake her. Again."

Sam frowned at him, worried by the pain she could see etched in his features. The softly crackling fire caused the light to flicker and dance over his features, and she could see the shadows under his eyes. "Sir," she said softly. "You really need to get it looked at again."

"It'll keep 'til morning, Carter."

Responding to the firmness of his tone, she sat down beside him, near enough so that her knee touched his as they resettled beside the fire. Sam glanced at the other campsites around them, noting one or two figures still moving around, all in silhouette against the low flames of their own small fires. One or two of the larger tents had were illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns, but for the most part the site was quiet. Settled for the night. The _very long _nights of this planet.

She prodded the fire and set a pot of water on the coals to warm it for tea for her and coffee for her Colonel, though she wished he'd just take tea instead to settle for the night. A faint rustling behind her told her Teal'c was near, and her senses were confirmed by the low voice coming from just beyond the trees.

"Major Carter, is all well?"

"We're good, Teal'c, the Colonel's just . . . restless."

"Yes, the Colonel's just restless," O'Neill parroted.

Sam shot him a sheepish look.

"Very well. Major Griff's team will be taking the remainder of the watches for the night. I will go to my rest now if you have no further need of me."

"Go. Rest. Meditate. Better leave the candles in the pack, though. Wouldn't want Griff's team barreling into your tent in the middle of the night." O'Neill spoke up, handing Sam his mug as he did so.

"I do not bring–"

"Joke, T."

Sam regarded him with a curious look. "Janet give you painkillers?"

"It's _just_ a scratch."

Sam detected more than a hint of annoyance in the response.

Sam slowly poured water into both of their mugs and set them aside to cool slightly. She held out her hand and stared O'Neill down until he reluctantly laid his bandaged arm across her palm. Sam gently set his arm on her knee and began to unwrap the gauze holding the bandages in place, wanting to see how badly he had pulled his stitches.

"Sir, I never did hear how you did this." Sam had returned to the campsite with the science teams and found O'Neill in the medical tent being stitched up by Janet. And amused Daniel had looked on, but she'd been called away again before hearing an explanation.

"Oh, you know," O'Neill shrugged. "It's just one of those things." He wouldn't meet her gaze.

Sam paused and looked up at him, noting the faint coloring creeping up his neck. "You weren't kidnapped by an amorous Unas, were you?" She asked, referring to Daniel's recent adventure with his new friend Chaka.

"Ah, no."

Pulling away the last layer of bandaging, Sam gently lifted the gauze pads and frowned. He'd managed to pull free five of the stitches Janet had carefully put in place. "Sir, Janet really needs to fix this tonight."

"No."

"Sir."

"Carter," there was steel in O'Neill's voice. "No." He tried to tug his arm free and frowned at her when she refused to release him. "_Carter_."

"_Colonel_," Sam responded with an equally exasperated tone. They stared each other for a long moment, Sam giving herself permission to hold his gaze and not look away. She searched his eyes, wondering at his reluctance, slowing becoming aware of her fingers stroking the inside of his arm. Surprisingly, he broke first.

"Look. You can do just as good a job as the Doc at this point. Just put some of that cream on it, wrap it in clean stuff, and if it still hurts in the morning, I'll go see the little needle-sticker."

Giving him a slight smile, Sam nodded. It was a compromise. "Fine. But you have to tell me what happened."

As she reached behind her for the med kit, she felt and heard him sigh in resignation.

"Go."

Sam tilted her head. Was he sending her away? She shook her head and frowned at him, her confusion probably quite clear because O'Neill wiggled the arm resting in her lap.

"G'wan, Carter. Do your worst."

That stung, she hated the idea of causing him pain. More pain. "Sir," she said, her voice low.

"Kidding. Go on." He offered her a tiny, if pained smile.

O'Neill was silent as she opened the kit and laid out the tools she'd need. As an afterthought she added another log to the fire to bring up the light a bit, and also brought out her small Maglite. Handing it to O'Neill, she tipped the beam down to where she needed it. Once she was ready, she looked up at him. "So?"

The Colonel looked away from the fire and back at her. "Right. So . . ." He hissed as Sam began to carefully clean away the blood from the opened stitches, but began speaking. "I'd have been fine, really, if it hadn't been for the squirrel."

Pausing, Sam looked up. "A . . . squirrel did this?"

"Yes. Well, no."

O'Neill leaned close and Sam's breath caught in her chest. For a fleeting instant, with his face so near hers, she had the wild urge to lean in and kiss his cheek. Especially when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Just as she lost control of the last of her reserves, he leaned back with his coffee in hand and she let out a shaky breath.

_Oh. Wow. Too close._

"Um . . . so. Squirrel?" She asked, trying to regain her equilibrium

"It wasn't so much the squirrel . . . or whatever it was, a squirrel-like-thing . . . really it was when my pack got caught."

"On what?"

"Well, it was really a 'by' what, Carter."

"By?" Sam continued to gently wipe the eight-inch line of stitches clean. Her attention on her task, she absently noticed that the injury was clean, not jagged and torn as she would have expected from an animal attack. Even as she thought it, O'Neill's next words jerked her attention back to his story.

"Teal'c thinks it was a bear."

Sam froze. "A . . . _bear_?" She stared at him, her hands tightening unconsciously on his arm. "Colonel, are you telling me a _bear_ did this to you and I'm just _now_ hearing about it?"

"Easy, Carter. Turns out it wasn't a bear. Well, not a full-grown one, anyway. Not even a baby bear. Perkins thinks it was more like a cross between a bear and a big cat."

Still staring at him, Sam could only shake her head. "A . . . bear-_cat_? What the heck is–"

"I _know_!" O'Neill interrupted her, his face suddenly animated. "That's what _I_ said! One minute I was talking with Teal'c about the Cup finals and the next thing I know . . . ow!"

"Sorry." Sam hastily loosened her grip and grabbed a fresh piece of gauze to wipe the blood from his arm. She bent low again over him, absently reaching out and taking hold of his other hand and repositioning it for better light. Her attention focused on his arm, she missed the look on his face as her hand wrapped, however briefly, around his. With a last swipe of the wound, she blew on it to dry it more quickly, then felt O'Neill shiver. She looked up, surprised at the expression she caught on his face. "Okay?" She asked softly.

"Uh," O'Neill swallowed hard and flicked his gaze away. "Yes. Fine. Good. Um, where was I?"

Turning back to his wound, Sam said, "Somehow a bear-cat thing and a squirrel stole your pack and you got an eight-inch gash in your arm."

"Carter," O'Neill said with exaggerated patience. "I told you. I got _this_, he twitched his arm in his hands, "because of the squirrel-thing. The bear . . . thing had nothing to do with it."

"Then why–"

"Once the bear-thing snagged my pack–"

"Wait, was the pack on you at the time?"

"Well . . . no."

"Where was it?"

"I was . . . otherwise occupied."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Otherwise occ– oh." She felt her own blush creeping up. He and Teal'c must have taken a nature break.

"Right. So . . . the bear-thing comes out of nowhere and the next thing I know my pack is being dragged off. Naturally, I follow."

"Naturally," she said dryly. "Um, right away?"

"Well, after . . . ah . . . securing things."

"Ah, right." Again Sam blushed and this time she was grateful her face was turned toward his injured arm. She was sure she was as red as a beet by now. The thought of Colonel O'Neill leaping up from his . . . business . . . and having to put himself together as he ran . . . she bit back a small chuckle and then stopped as she was suddenly hit with a mental image of him leaping up, important . . . parts . . . bouncing as he tried to get himself together.

_Oh . . . my. _

Tucking that image away for examination at a later date, she focused instead on the work she was doing on his arm. She wasn't completely successful, however, because she had another flash, and she cursed her overactive imagination. This time the sound that came out of her was closer to a groan than a chuckle and she tried to stifle both by turning it into a cough.

"Something funny, Major?"

Apparently an unsuccessful cough. "No, Sir. Nothing at all." Sam bit back a smile as she slathered antibiotic ointment on his stitches, careful not to apply too much pressure. "So," she prompted. "The bear took your pack . . ."

"Teal'c was no help, he was, um, well . . . he caught up with me eventually. One of my straps snagged on something and yanked the bear-thing back. It fell and yowled. A _lot_. I realized about then that the mama bear-thing might be around so I was going to grab my pack and run."

"And that's where the squirrel comes in?"

"Not exactly."

"Not _exactly_? What does that mean?" Sam looked up at him, taking a moment to take a sip of her tea as he drank his coffee. "But I thought you said–"

"Carter, you wanna hear this or not?"

O'Neill's eyes twinkled in the firelight and Sam realized that she'd never be able to resist that look. She tipped her head and smiled back, delighted when his small smile widened slightly. He was enjoying this, she realized. Dragging it out for her. She wondered if he were enjoying it as much as she was. She waved a hand it what was patently an O'Neill-like gesture. "Sorry, please continue."

"As I was _saying_," he continued, emphasizing her interruption with gentle good humor. "Just as I stepped forward, Mama bear-thing let out a huge roar and charged me. Teal'c was too far away to do anything, so I jumped for the nearest tree."

"I thought bears could–"

"Carter."

"Sorry."

"About halfway up I remembered just that very fact and looked down and sure enough, there was the mama, just a few feet behind me."

Now he had Sam's complete attention. His arm lay across her knees, her fingers wrapped protectively around it as she watched his face. She could see it now, and wondered how the heck he'd gotten away with just a cut on the arm when faced with an angry mother bear . . . or whatever . . . protecting her child.

"About this time, T _finally_ shows up and fires a shot, scaring the bear. She got the heck out of dodge pretty quickly, her baby running along behind. I climbed down, got my pack, and we headed back to base camp." The Colonel stopped and took a long swallow of his coffee, watching as Sam re-covered his line of stitches with sterile pads and began winding gauze around his arm to hold it in place.

After a few moments, Sam looked at him and frowned. "I don't understand. If you didn't get cut by the bear, or the tree, where does the squirrel come in?"

Now O'Neill looked sheepish and he hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak but a new voice answered, humor lacing his tone.

"Oh, that's really the best part, Sam."

Both officers looked up to see Daniel stumbling sleepily toward them from the now darkened archaeology tent. He slumped beside Jack and deftly removed the coffee cup from O'Neill's hands. Sam watched her Colonel's eyes narrow as Daniel finished the last of the coffee in the mug, grimacing at the bitter taste before handing the empty cup back. He yawned and stretched, then pushed himself to his feet, clearly heading to bed.

"Wait," Sam looked from Daniel to O'Neill and back. "_What's_ the best part?" She caught O'Neill's fierce look at Daniel but knew her friend would ignore the unspoken command from the Colonel.

Daniel grinned down at Sam. "Apparently, when they got back to camp, Jack set his pack down and began making dinner."

"But I thought it was Team Four's turn to make dinner," she protested, looking back at O'Neill.

"It was," came O'Neill's dry response.

"Until Jack caught Kauffman adding those pepper-things to the soup."

"Oh." Sam shuddered. "I hate those."

"I know." O'Neill nodded in satisfaction, then winced as his movement pulled his arm slightly in Sam's still-tight grip.

"I still don't see how . . .."

Daniel started to chuckle. "Jack yelled at Kauffman and told him to toss out what he'd made and to grab the extra meals from Jack's pack. Kauffman jumped about a foot, turned, reached into the pack, and out popped this squirrel."

"No."

"Yes." Now Daniel was laughing quietly. "I'm not sure who was more surprised, Kauffman or the squirrel. All I know is that Kauffman let out a scream."

"It was a girly scream." O'Neill huffed.

"Hey," Sam frowned at him.

O'Neill shrugged and Daniel laughed again. "It really was, Sam."

"Definitely a _girly_ scream." O'Neill gave an overly dramatic shudder.

"But how did _this_," and she tipped her chin toward O'Neill's arm which still lay, now neatly rebandaged, in her lap. "Happen?"

"As Kauffman jumped backward, Jack jumped forward, and Kauffman was still holding his knife."

"Oh my God. Sir, you could have been–"

"Skewered by a scientist! I _know_!"

"Hey!" This time both Daniel and Sam fixed him with a glare. "You guys don't count. You're . . . well you don't."

Sam squinted at Daniel and then back at O'Neill. She wasn't entirely certain she shouldn't be more insulted. Daniel, however, appeared satisfied and, after giving them a final nod, headed toward his and Teal'c's tent. Sam absently followed his progress, unaware the she still held O'Neill's injured arm cradled in her lap. She slid one hand up to his elbow and the other down to his hand, automatically checking for uneven or warm spots as she went. Once at the bottom of the bandage, she trailed her fingers across his hand, her mind on the Colonel's story. She didn't notice the Colonel's fingers closing around her own.

Sometimes it frightened her, how close they came, all of them, to death almost every time they stepped through the gate. But it was on missions like these, innocuous ones, where they'd been on site for more than ten days, that it really hit her just how dangerous their job really was. How easily it could all be taken from them. Unconsciously she tightened her fingers around his, then froze as she realized what she was doing. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and found his waiting for her.

"Sam?"

Ducking her head, Sam tried to lift his arm away to return it to his side, but stopped as he resisted. He squeezed her fingers again. "Carter, what?"

She didn't know how to tell him, how to share what she was thinking. It was like one of those stories where the person survives a ten-thousand foot fall from an airplane only to be killed by a bus the next day. They'd never know, would they, which mission would be _it_? She sighed.

"C'mon, Carter. Out with it."

"I was thinking about . . ." _losing you_, her traitorous mind supplied. Out loud she finished, "Hawkins and his team. How quickly something so . . . simple . . . can go bad." She tipped her chin toward Daniel's tent. "Look at Daniel. He was kidnapped by a lonely Unas and . . . in true Daniel-fashion makes a new friend. But . . . he could just have easily been–"

"Lunch?" O'Neill's tone wasn't flippant, and his brown eyes were serious on hers.

"Yeah." Sam gave up trying to move his arm, it was apparent that he would remove it when he was good and ready. She instead found herself fiddling with his fingers, feeling and mentally cataloging the calluses she felt there. "I expect it, you know, on the big, scary missions. But on things like this . . ."

"Carter," O'Neill squeezed her fingers and she met his gaze. "It was an accident. A clumsy sci– er, guy with a knife and . . .." He looked pointedly at his arm. "It's not a big deal."

"I know." Sam was struggling to hold back her emotions and this time she firmly lifted his arm up and away, placing it gently onto his own lap. "It's just . . . I can't imagine coming back into _camp_, a place that's really supposed to be our home-away-from-home to find that you . . . that one of us . . . had been killed because –"

"Of a squirrel?"

In spite of her self, Sam let out a watery laugh. "Yeah."

"Think of how _I_ feel, Carter. Think of it, taken down by a _rodent_?"

Sam tipped her head at him and narrowed her eyes. "Are we still talking about the squirrel, Colonel?"

"Not exactly."

"Sir."

"Okay," he conceded. I _might_ have been referring to Kauffman." He picked up his empty mug, then looked inside and frowned, throwing a dark glance toward Daniel and Teal'c's tent before setting his cup aside again.

Amusement laced her tone. "I won't tell, Sir."

He straightened, pleased. "Thank you." He faced her. "Wait . . . tell about what?"

"That you came out on the losing end of a battle with a squirrel."

"It was a _scientist_."

"A scientist terrorized by a squirrel." She cocked her head. "Though I'm not sure which is worse." She shrugged and added, "Either way, your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks."

"But I'm sure Daniel's already told."

"He wouldn't."

She just lifted an eyebrow and swallowed the last of her tea.

O'Neill sighed. "Where's that Unas again?"

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Once again, I owe a huge debt to the writing and editing talents of Leiasky. You are brilliant and a terrific sounding-board. I especially enjoy our real-time chats as we work . . . bits . . . out. grin

This will be the last _Campfire_ for a while as I am having back surgery on Monday and will be out of commission for a bit.


	9. None so Blind

A/N: at end.

Set during _Scorched Earth_ on P5S-381. Episode synopsis: _After relocating an endangered civilization to a "safe" new planet, the team realizes that another race of aliens is planning to incinerate the planet's surface to make it inhabitable for their own race._

~ o0o ~

_**None so Blind**_

~ o0o ~

New Enkaran (2.0) Homeworld  
Sunset +2  
9 PM SGCST

Sam sighed and stretched, taking care to not knock into the roaring fire either her mug or the Colonel's freshly warmed coffee. Or . . . re-warmed coffee. She knew it was silly, foolish even to make—or re-warm—a fresh cup of coffee for someone not even there, but she couldn't help it. O'Neill had said that he and Daniel would be back by sunset and it was now two hours past that time.

Blowing out another long sigh, she stretched again, arching her back this time and wincing as her back and neck cracked with the movement. Closing her eyes, she tipped her head from left to right in an effort to remain alert. She was, quite simply, exhausted.

After Daniel's _reckless_—and she was still furious with him about it—return to Lotan's ship to continue to try to negotiate for the ship to stop it's incineration of the planet's surface and then almost miraculous discovery of the original Enkaran homeworld, things had gone from crazy-busy to absolute-chaos in terms of work.

Once again Stargate teams had trekked from village to village bringing the news that _again_ the people along with all of their goods, livestock, and belongings, would transported to yet another planet. Despite the fact that the Enkarans would be returning to what was truly their home planet, many balked at the move. Sam and Daniel, and even the Colonel, to some degree, had spent a lot of time calming nerves and practicing diplomacy in getting the newly transplanted to prepare for it to happen again.

Sam added another log to the fire and bit back a yawn. She glanced at her watch, wondering what was keeping the Colonel and Daniel. She hadn't really spent any time with them since Daniel and Lotan's rediscovery of the Enkaran homeworld. While she and Daniel were in one village, Teal'c and O'Neill were in another, only able to communicate by radio. At some point the pairs had rotated, Teal'c joining Sam while Daniel met O'Neill before going to the largest settlement on the continent.

Once everyone was onboard, Lotan's—or really, she thought, the Gadameer, ship's propulsion was so incredibly powerful that they'd arrived at the Enkaran homeworld almost before they'd all had time to set down their gear. As much as Sam, and Daniel, had tried, Lotan refused to share details about the ship's propulsion system and Sam still felt as if she'd missed a tremendous opportunity there.

Sighing again, she leaned back against the low wall surrounding the small, courtyard firepit, and wondered again about her two teammates. It _was_ silly to miss them so much, but . . . they, the four of them, spent nearly every waking hour in one-another's presence. Not having one-half of her team nearby was like not having an arm, or a leg. She missed them.

She missed _him_, though she wouldn't let herself dwell too deeply on that part of it. She chalked it up to hating being at odds with anyone, let alone her CO.

_Especially_ not her CO, her heart amended.

_Shut up._

They'd come so close to arguing about the naquada bomb, the closest she'd _ever_ come to telling her Colonel that she just wouldn't do something. She felt like she'd let him down and she _hated_ that feeling. She'd been planning on apologizing long before this, but what with one thing and another, they'd all been apart for so long. Now she didn't know how to bring it up.

Tonight, however, the team was supposed to get back together. Teal'c was inside of the small villa that the "new" Enkarans—or "Enkarans 2.0" as she had mentally dubbed them—had assigned them, catching up on some much-needed kel'no'reem. Sam had eaten and then made sure all of their gear was in the rooms she'd picked out for them all, before restlessly heading outside again.

Anzarian had, when showing the villa to her and to Teal'c had emphasized how they were to make themselves "to home" in the lovely building. Vaguely Tuscan in design, the small courtyard in which Sam was seated was surrounded by two stories of building. An old metal gate gave entrance to the courtyard from one street while on the opposite wall the entrance was from the villa. When Sam had spotted the firepit she'd smiled and Anzarian must have noticed. Within an hour of their arrival his young son Alaron had appeared at the door to the villa, a large mesh sack loaded with wood over his shoulder, shyly asking is he could come inside.

Just as she felt her eyes drift shut her radio crackled to life. Grumbling to herself about how she'd jumped at the contact, she keyed the mic. "This is Carter, go ahead."

"_Hey ya, Carter. We're back with the last of the supplies promised by the SGC. What's your twenty, over?"_

Oops. Sam hadn't even thought about the fact that they'd have to try to find their new digs in the dark. O'Neill had simpy accepted Anzarian's offer of a place to stay before 'gating back to Earth, leaving it to Sam and Teal'c to break their camp and move into the town.

"Where are _you_, Sir? I can meet you at the village square and lead you back here." Already on her feet, Sam began to brush errant bits of brush from her trousers.

"_Copy that. We're about–"_ Sam heard voices in the background and waited impatiently, wondering if she should just get started. _"Carter, stay put. Anzarian's son says we're about to pass the villa. He'll show us. O'Neill out."_

Sinking back to her seat, Sam keyed the mic one last time. "Understood, Carter out." She reached forward and tested the coffee she'd made earlier and realized it was even colder than the last time she'd reheated it. This time she gave up and just tossed it out, dumping it into the bushes behind the low stone wall enclosing the firepit. Daniel would want some too, she realized, and began to get a cup ready for him as well.

Less than five minutes later the iron gate creaked open and Sam heard Alaron's excited voice chattering away. He'd been rather shy with her, but apparently, she thought with a smile, he related better to the Colonel and Daniel.

As the boy continued to speak with Daniel, O'Neill strode over to the still-blazing firepit. He clapped his hands together and said, "Oh, please tell me that's coffee you're making, Carter."

Sternly silencing that part of her that thrilled at the sound of his voice even moreso than it had when he'd been on the radio, Sam just grinned up and him and nodded. "Okay, it's coffee."

At Sam's words, both Daniel and Alaron stopped, Daniel with a weary smile on his face and Alaron seemingly in mid-sentence the minute he spotted Sam.

O'Neill put his hand on Alaron's shoulder to get his attention. He bent low and said quietly, "Alaron, we promised your dad you'd be right home. We'll see you in the morning, okay?"

The boy just nodded, his eyes still on Sam, and he backed quickly away from the firepit. After a few feet he spun on one heel and bolted out of the gate, to muffled laughter from the two men.

Sam glanced between them with a narrowed gaze. "Okay, what's so funny? Sir," she added a little belatedly.

Daniel looked over at O'Neill with a tired smile, then back at Sam. "I'll let Jack explain it to you," he said as he yawned widely. "I'm off to bed."

_Figures_, Sam thought. _The _one_ time I remember to make coffee for him, he's off to bed._ She smiled anyway as she poured out his mug and set it aside. She was about to hand O'Neill his when the Colonel spoke up, apparently continuing a conversation from earlier.

"Daniel."

"Jack?"

"Just so you know, I'm glad I didn't blow up that ship."

His words dropped like a bomb onto Sam's head and she froze. In one sentence, O'Neill had shattered her calm and even dented her happiness at seeing him—at seeing _them_—back with her and Teal'c.

She barely heard Daniel's almost laughing response. "Just so you know, so am I. Goodnight Jack, Sam."

Seizing the opportunity to escape, Sam half-rose before Daniel waved her back down. "Don't worry Sam, I'm sure I can find my own pack and room." With a final wave he disappeared into the darkness and Sam heard the wooden door of the villa open and close, the latch slipping down into an almost echoing silence.

As soon as he was gone, Sam rose to her feet, keeping her eyes from the Colonel's. As thrilled as she was that he was back, and she was _far_ more thrilled than she'd like to admit, she didn't want to ruin his return by bringing up . . . well . . . her screw-up.

She froze, one knee up, the other still on the ground, at O'Neill's quiet, "Carter."

Sam reached around, ostensibly looking for a jacket or . . . something . . . when O'Neill spoke up again.

"Where're ya headed all of a sudden?"

"Oh, well, I figured since you were back, I could, ah–"

"Not quite yet." The soft command in his voice brought Sam's gaze to his face, and there it was, just as she'd suspected. Her heart lurched at the disappointment she saw in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off.

"I– Sir, before you say anything, please let me apologize. You asked me to do something and I, well, I argued about it. I know I shouldn't have –"

O'Neill's face went from still to confused and Sam watched as his scar-lightened eyebrow drew low, then rose as if he'd figured something out. "Carter, are you talking about the naquada bomb?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Why are you apologizing? Did you, or did you not, build me a bomb?"

"I did, Sir." Sam's gaze dropped to her knees as she settled again beside him.

"And did Daniel not say that it made a _really big_ explosion in space next to Zoltar's ship?"

"Lot–" she started to automatically correct, then stopped, realizing that now might _not_ be the best time to correct her CO.

"Look at me." Quiet or not, his voice was velvet-covered steel. "I _know_ it's Lotan, Carter. I was yanking your chain." O'Neill took a sip of his coffee and set it aside. He nudged a burning log with his toe, sending sparks swirling up into the night sky, then bumped her shoulder with his. "Mind telling me what this is all about?"

Sam sat silently for a long, quiet moment before looking up to meet his steady, warm gaze. "I almost didn't do it," she said softly.

"Do what?" 

"Build the bomb." Sam sighed. "I though about making it," and she raised her fingers and made air quotes, "malfunction." O'Neill's steady gaze was unflinching and he waited her out. The longer Sam stared into those warm, chocolate eyes, the worse the feeling of letting him down became, and she lowered her head in shame, frustrated with herself and her almost overpowering need to please . . . especially this man. _Get a grip, Samantha_, she scolded herself.

"Ah, Sam. C'mere." He wiped her cheeks with his thumb and then drew her into his arms.

It was wrong.

It was against the rules.

It was against the private "Carter code of conduct."

And Sam didn't care.

Because it was wonderful.

She reached up and wrapped one arm around his waist in response, her hand gripping his jacket into a tight fist. She breathed in the smell of him and felt the solid presence of his arm around her and, though she knew she shouldn't, let herself enjoy this stolen moment of intimacy.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his jacket and he squeezed her tighter for a moment in response.

The fire burned low while he held her, one arm around her shoulders, one hand resting on the arm she had around his waist. Finally Sam's overwhelming sense of 'right and wrong,' 'duty versus desire' weighed in and she reluctantly released his jacket, feeling him just as slowly lift his arm away from her shoulders. When she was seated properly beside him, her chin tucked onto her knees he spoke up.

"Sam, I don't expect you to _agree_ with every order I give, just to follow them."

Fighting back a small sniffle, Sam have him a quiet smile. "I came close to not doing so well with that, this time around."

"Close only counts in horseshoes and grenades."

"Who said that?"

Looking confused, O'Neill looked around and then leaned closer. "_I_ just did."

Sam bit back a bigger smile. "I meant, originally."

"Dunno, does it matter?"

After a long moment of searching her memory, Sam scrunched up her nose and shook her head. "No, guess not."

"Good." O'Neill was silent as he studied her for a long, silent time. "But . . . you get it, right?"

"That we're good," she gestured between the two of them, "as long as I follow your orders?"

O'Neill winced but nodded. "I'm not sure I like that phrasing, but . . . with regard to the SGC, our jobs . . . yeah."

The fire burned even lower, cloaking them both in darkness. The night was warm, but not overly so, and Sam was comfortable sitting beside him, reluctant to go inside. Into the separate rooms each of them had. For a brief moment she resented Anzarian's offer of a place for her team to stay, knowing that if O'Neill had refused she'd right now be crawling into a tent beside him, having finished her turn at watch.

"I hate to go in, it's so nice out here," she said softly, leaning back again to peer up at the night sky. The wall that encircled the firepit was still warm from the day's sun, and as she tilted her head back she felt O'Neill's arm behind her.

"Yeah."

When he made no effort to move, Sam let her head rest more firmly, more comfortably, on his arm. It wouldn't hurt to sit out here for a little while longer, she thought as she bit back another yawn. She was never aware of slipping between wakefulness to the land of dreams, only that when she turned her head into the nearby softness, she was comforted.

~ o0o ~

New Enkaran (2.0) Homeworld  
Sunrise +7  
6 AM SGCST

The sun was just peeking through windows and into the secluded courtyard when Anzarian waved Eliam, leading Hedrazar beside him, through the old iron gate. Though the gate squeaked with each movement, Anzarian noticed that the noise did not disturb the two figures hunched beside the now cold embers of a nighttime fire.

"Hold," he whispered and Eliam stopped, Hedrazar doing the same.

Hedrazar tipped her head inquisitively and Eliam whispered to her. "It is the leaders of the people of Earth, Hedrazar. They are asleep near the outside pit for fire."

"All of them?" Hedrazar mimicked the others and kept her voice low.

"No," whispered Anzarian. "It is only O'Neill and the one called Carter." He took a step back and carefully reopened the gate, preparing to lead them away. "We shall come back another time."

"Eliam," Hedrazar squeezed her son's arm. "Tell me of them. How do they sleep?"

Used to describing people and things to his mother, Eliam whispered, "O'Neill is against the small wall surrounding the pit, Carter against him, her face to his shoulder. O'Neill holds her in securely place."

"Ah." Hedrazar nodded and gave Eliam's arm another squeeze. Eliam took that as his cue to lead her away, and as he did so, his mother whispered a final comment, "Though Dr. Jackson denied it, I was certain that I heard . . . something . . . between them."

"How did you know?"

"I am blind, my son. That does not mean I cannot see."

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): As always, extra special thanks to Leiasky for excellent beta (and creepy mind-reading) skills! Guess what? _BtS _is next! Welcome back to the _Campfires_, sorry to have been away so long. I am still recovering from my spinal surgery and in therapy 3x a week to get to walking without support again.

By the way, the actual "close doesn't count" quote is: "Close don't count in baseball. Close only counts in horseshoes and grenades."

Baseball player Frank Robinson said it in 1935. :::shrug::: I kind of liked that a Robinson said it. grin


	10. Scratching the Surface

A/N: at end.

Set during _Beneath the Surface_ on P3R-118. Episode synopsis: _With their memories erased and their identities changed, SG-1 find themselves trapped below a domed city on a planet of ice, toiling as slave laborers._

~ o0o ~

_**Scratching the Surface**_

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post First Meal Shift

Day 17

Jonah ducked as another blast of steaming air shot from the tank, then ran forward again. He looked over to where Thera was shouting orders, her voice confident and strong over the shouts of the nearby workers. He can't quite remember when it became automatic to look for her, but it was something he did every shift now. Something so a part of his actions that it took a pointed comment from a nearby worker before he realized he was watching for her. The steam billowed again and Jonah's stomach tightened in fear for his friend.

Another loud, searing burst of steam brought Brenna down from her office, and Jonah listened as Thera argued for a safer way of managing the machinery, still working and managing the problem as she did so.

Afraid the tank might blow and hurt both of them, Jonah stepped forward slightly, ready to haul both workers away from danger if necessary. Before he got too close, Thera turned one last valve and straightened, watching Brenna as she returned upstairs, the danger over for the moment.

Scratching his head, he waited until she looked up, silently asking her to confirm that she was unhurt. When she nodded briefly and looked away, Jonah felt the small knot of fear leave his midsection. That small head nod was good enough for him.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Mid-day Meal Shift

Day 17

Jonah waited for her to catch up with him, then resumed walking toward the next section on his worklist for the day. He glanced at his companion, surreptitiously double-checking to make sure the morning's steam blasts had not injured her.

"You all right?"

"Fine."

"That explosion . . . "

Thera shook her head and gave him a smile that warmed him through. "Oh no, no…I'm fine, really."

"Good."

She was excited as she told him of her new idea. "Brenna wants to see me. She wants to hear my ideas for running the plant."

"You know you could take a few minutes off."

This time her smile dissolved into a chuckle that did even better things to Jonah's insides. She held his gaze longer and he watched the light of humor dance in her bright blue eyes. He couldn't help but smile back as she teased him.

"Oh please! You work just as hard as I do."

"That's different, it's called stamina."

Thera shook her head and laughed again before lengthening her stride and calling back to him, "Have a good shift."

"Bye," he called as she walked away.

Jonah stopped at his next workstation and followed her progress until she was no longer visible among the maze of machinery and cables. As they'd walked and chatted, even as brief as it was, he'd felt . . . complete. Right. And now that she'd gone to her own duties, he realized he missed her presence, pacing along beside him. Laughing a little at his own foolishness, he shook his head, unable to stop himself from slowing down his work in the hope of catching her on her return trip.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Rising Meal

Day 18

Telling himself he wasn't waiting for anyone in particular, Jonah paced around the base of Turbine 14, occasionally throwing a glance up toward the first level. Around him, workers continued to labor over the heavy machinery, and Jonah knew he would have a great deal to do before the mid-day meal to make up for his . . . not-waiting around now. A clatter on the walkway pulled his attention back to the upper level and he watched as Thera made her way back down the stairs to level two.

She was excited, he realized. He waited for a moment, waited for her to choose a direction, and was pleasantly surprised when she spotted him and turned his way.

"How'd it go?"

"Great. I think we can make the adjustments, maybe improve our output."

"Good."

Thera looked up into his eyes and Jonah waited for her to speak. "Jonah, when the steam blew the third time, I saw you come closer."

"I did."

"Everyone else was running away."

Jonah shrugged, waiting for her to make her point. When she just looked at him, he shrugged again.

"Sometimes you have to run _toward_ the bad stuff."

"It was courageous."

"Fear and courage are brothers."

Tipping her head, Thera studied him for a moment. "That's familiar somehow . . ."

"It's just an expression."

She paused, her expression turned inward. "Maybe." Finally she shook her head and asked, "Were you afraid?"

"I was," he answered, then leaned closer. "For you." Jonah looked around and then did what he'd been wanting to do for a long time. "Listen, Thera . . . after the evening meal, would you, ah, like to take a walk?"

Her steady gaze was disconcerting, and Jonah forced himself to remain still as she examined him. He met her eyes, trying to reassure her that he was only offering companionship . . . friendship. He knew he was years older that most of the workers in his section, and knew Thera could find other, more virile, . . . companions . . . if she chose, and he tried to ignore the ache that thought brought with it.

After a moment, just when he was about to turn away, a slow, gentle smile slid across Thera's face, taking her from merely beautiful to breathtaking in his eyes.

"I . . . I think I'd like that."

Before Jonah could answer, the mid-day meal alarm sounded and they were separated in the rushing flow of their colleagues eager for hot food.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Evening Meal

Day 18

Checking one last time to be certain everything was in place, Jonah stepped back and nodded, satisfied with his efforts. He hurried back along the dimly lit corridors, quickly reaching the brighter, warmer sections of their level. As he rounded the corner he spotted Thera approaching from the opposite direction.

"Hi," he said as he got nearer.

Startled, she jumped. "Oh! I thought I'd missed you. I am sorry I am late, but Brenna wanted to talk to me."

Jonah reached her side and began leading her back in the direction he'd come. "How'd it go?" He could see that she was upset, could feel the tension radiating off of her.

"It's not. I don't get it. Yesterday she seemed so excited, so receptive to the ideas I had, and today . . ." Thera shook her head, clearly frustrated.

Thera glanced at the office windows above them and her frustration got the better of her again. "It's not like I'm making this up of the top of my head! I've got a detailed plan including safeguards."

"I'm sure she knows that."

"I could make a difference here . . . she won't let me!"

"Why don't you go back to her in a couple of days, offer up something small. Maybe you've got to work into the big stuff."

"How do you stay so calm?"

"I think in another life I've handled dangerous explosives."

Thera cocked her head sideways, clearly puzzled by his words. "What…what do you mean in another life?"

"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just an expression isn't it?"

"I guess . . ." She trailed off, still clearly disillusioned by the process.

"I'm sorry," Jonah offered, leading her deeper into the more unfinished portions of their work level. The harsh sounds of the turbines and steam vents faded the deeper they went. He stopped at a section crossing and turned to her, offering his hands. "Let me boost you up, we're going just a little further."

Thera peered down the darkened corridor, then glanced back in the direction they'd come before turning to face him. "Jonah?"

"It's okay. The corridor bends, we're going just beyond that." He could feel her hesitation, even if he couldn't quite clearly make out her expression in the near darkness. "Thera," he said softly. "I won't hurt you. I'd never hurt you."

"I know that," she responded, her voice firm and low, and he believed her.

He felt her fingers close over his and blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Releasing her hand, he instead stepped closer and grasped her firmly around the waist, turning her toward the pipe. Just the feel of her warmth beneath his fingertips made his insides shake and again he was overwhelmed with that feeling of . . . rightness. Of feeling as if she belonged near him. Firmly taking control of his emotions, he instead counted softly, then boosted her up to sit atop the large pipeline.

"You good?"

"Yeah, here." Thera reached her hand down and offered it to him.

"Thanks." Jonah grasped it and with a grunt, lifted himself up and over, then again reached for her. "Slide down, I've got you."

Thera slid down the pipe into his arms, landing closer than he'd expected, her chest brushing his as she slipped by, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders to steady herself. He could feel her warmth trapped between his body and the metal of the pipeline at her back. Could smell her distinct, sweet scent. Could feel her breath on his neck as she steadied herself. Knowing that her mouth was that close to his was almost his undoing, and Jonah swallowed hard. When he moved to step back her hands tightened for a moment before letting go.

"Where to, now?" she asked, and he wondered if it was his imagination that her voice was somewhat rougher than before.

Jonah stepped back, but kept one of her hands in his as he led her down the corridor and around the bend. "Here. We're here." He stopped and waved her forward, waiting for her reaction.

This end of their section was long-abandoned and mostly forgotten. At least Jonah could never remember anyone being assigned here. He figured that somewhere further along the line the corridor had been breached because it was colder than the section to which they were assigned now. So cold, in fact, that he had built the fire now crackling merrily in the small pot he'd found. The floor of the tiny alcove, almost an L-shape off of the main corridor down which they'd come, was piled with the softest items he'd been able to squirrel, trade, or barter away from his colleagues. Beside the fire sat two plates and a bowl with extra rations, other items for which he'd traded work hours.

Thera's eyes were wide as she took in the space he'd made and her expression, when she turned toward him, was lighter, though there was still some wariness in her gaze.

"What is all this?"

"I thought you could use a break." He waved her forward before deliberately sitting adjacent to her, not beside her. "And more food." Lifting the plate holding three rounds of bread, he offered her a small smile. "You work too hard and never stop to eat properly."

Thera ducked her head and bit her lip as she gingerly settled on the cushions beside him. "I like to work."

"Your ethic serves you well. Serves all of us." Jonah broke off a piece of bread and offered it to her, pleased beyond measure that she took it without hesitation. "I'm your friend, Thera, and I care for you. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Thera chewed slowly on his offering, her eyes not leaving his for several long minutes. Finally she broke their gaze and glanced around the small room lit only by the pot-fire before them. She looked up at him again and this time Jonah saw something else in her expression. The wariness was gone, replaced by a warmth that mirrored what he felt inside. Thera shifted on the cushions beneath her, moving closer as she reached for another round of the bread, and Jonah's heart shot into his throat as the move brought her shoulder into contact with his.

"Thank you." She looked around again. "This is great."

He looked down at her and lifted an eyebrow. "Okay?"

Thera smiled up at him, then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, just missing his lips, and Jonah's body hummed at the brief contact. "More than okay."

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Rising Shift

Day 27

As he watched the progress of his newest worker, Jonah listened to the activity around him. The machines were running hot and hard today and he wondered at the extra drain on them. Perhaps Thera knew what was pulling the power today. He glanced around, hoping to spot her, but to no avail.

Each night since that first night, they'd gone to "their place" to talk, to laugh, to eat, and sometimes to just sit quietly together. Last night, ten nights after the first night, Thera had surprised him with the addition of a blanket and two more padded cushions for the room. She, it seemed, had been doing her own work trading for extras and had brought her reward for them to share. She'd also surprised him that evening with a real kiss goodnight, not the brief cheek-buss she'd been giving him until then. He'd been so surprised by the kiss that he hadn't responded, and she'd disappeared into the darkness before he could.

She'd not been in her bunk when he'd returned to the sleeping quarters, and she'd been gone this morning as well, though it was clear that her bunk had been slept in. Jonah wondered if she regretted that kiss, or if she was angry that he hadn't responded. Whatever it was, Jonah was going to find out tonight, and tonight he was going to do some kissing of his own, he decided. In fact, he really wanted to–

The steam pressure alarm ripped him from his thoughts, and Jonah jerked his head toward the trunk corridor.

_Thera._

Without a second thought he waved his new worker toward the protected sleep area and turned, sprinting down the corridors toward where he knew she must be. It was like swimming upstream, but he finally reached the junction. He could hear shouting as he rounded the corner and his legs almost gave way as he heard Thera's voice above the others.

"If that boiler blows it'll take this whole section with it. Now I can shut off the main boiler from here but somebody's going to have to go back there and open the primary release valve."

Jonah caught her eye and nodded, letting her know he would take care of that end. He sprinted down the hall and found the pressure valve, reaching automatically for it before snatching his scalded hands away.

A voice behind him made him turn, and Jonah saw Carlin behind him, holding out a longhammer. Together they bashed at the valve-release until it broke free, venting the overloading steam over them both.

Later, after leaving the medical facility, Jonah listened as Carlin talked about Tor's words. Thera stood beside him, listening, but Jonah knew she was still angry with Brenna and her indifference to the ideas that could make their workplace safer.

"He said we were a part of something called SG-1," Carlin said again.

"Yeah, what is that?" Jonah asked irritably. He wanted Carlin to leave so he and Thera could go to their place.

"A team?" Thera asked quietly.

Jonah snorted. "What kind of a name is that for a team?"

"I don't know." Carlin glanced back toward his bunk then rose. "But I want to find out."

Jonah watched the other man leave, his eyes narrowed in speculation. Why was Carlin suddenly trying to befriend them? Did it have something to do with Thera? Was he trying to horn in? Jonah thought Carlin had his own companion in Kegan, but . . .

"You okay, Jonah?"

"Yeah." He scrubbed his face with his hands, then ran his bandaged hands through his hair. Looking over at Thera, he asked, "Want to take a walk?"

Thera smiled and reached out, her own bandages cleaner than his. She smoothed her hands over his hair and Jonah realized he must have spiked it up and out a minute ago. He was always doing that, running his fingers through his hair and leaving it stuck up at crazy angles. Used to drive his mother nuts. Jonah froze.

His mother.

Unconsciously he leaned into Thera's brief caress and chased the now fleeting memory. Mother. Mother . . . mother. Did he have one? He must. Looking over at Thera, he waved her forward. As they took a circuitous route to their hidden hideaway, he looked down at her.

"Thera, do you remember your mother?"

"She's dead." Thera's response was quick, almost automatic and he heard her suck in a surprised breath.

Jonah stopped, pulling her to a halt beside him. He took her hands in his and pulled her closer, angling her so that the faint light illuminated her lovely features. "You remember her?" Remember that she's . . ."

"Dead," whispered Thera, her eyes widening. "How do I know that?"

She trembled, and Jonah tightened his fingers around hers, pulling her closer still. "Shh, it's okay, Thera. I'm sorry."

"N-no, it's okay. I think. It . . . it was a long time ago." Thera looked up at him, her eyes swimming. "Why do I know that when I can't remember her?"

Shaking his head, Jonah tugged her against him, then wrapped his arms around her. She slipped into his embrace, her cheek tucked snugly against his shoulder. Jonah tightened his grip and dipped his head down, brushing his lips along the slender line of her neck.

"It's okay. Shh, it's okay."

Thera shuddered again and tightened her hold on him before easing back. She didn't go far, just enough to lean back and catch his gaze, her arms still wrapped loosely around his waist.

Jonah watched her eyes flick from his to his lips and back up again. She bit her lip, clearly hesitant, and he quirked a tiny smile at her. Slowly, slow enough that she could see his intention, he lowered his head toward her, his lips brushing hers.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, her hand snaked around behind his head and held him in place, her lips softening under his.

He'd meant to be comforting.

He'd meant to reassure.

He'd meant to be gentle.

All of that went to hell when her lips opened to him, when her tongue brushed his. Within seconds they were crushed together, lips fused, bodies touching chest to toe. Jonah lost himself in her kiss, in the warmth and headiness of what she was offering him.

She was fire.

She was sweetness itself.

She was magical.

And she was his.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Evening Meal

Day 31

"What did you mean?"

"Hmm?" Jonah looked up from the small fire he'd built in the pot in their little space. It always felt right to him to build a fire for her. For them. Thera was stretched out beside him, her eyes closed, her newly unbandaged hands resting on her stomach.

"The other night, when Carlin was eating with us, you said . . . you said your dreams were about other things. What other things?"

_Crap._

He was still bothered by the fact that Thera was having the same dreams as Carlin. Why wasn't she having the same dreams as _him_? He fought back a wave of jealousy. Carlin. The man had the _worst_ timing. Each time Jonah had tried to get Thera alone, Carlin would be there, seemingly innocent, always asking annoying questions.

"Jonah?" There's voice was soft, and when he looked down at her, her blue eyes were wide, searching his.

"Ah, hell." Jonah slipped down beside her, his back to the fire, his body blocking most of the light so that Thera lay beside him in flickering shadow. He'd not been able to get her out of his mind, get her taste off of his tongue since the other night. And he could not wait one more minute to have that again.

To taste her again.

Thera closed her eyes as Jonah's face drew near. There, in the quietest corner they could find, away from prying eyes and greedy hands, his lips touched hers.

As before, he passed over them. Once, twice, then more firmly, his mouth opened slightly and his tongue brushed against her lips as he asked for entry.

It felt new and familiar at the same time. Her scent, his . . . them together. She felt . . . right. Like coming home. Thera slid deeper into his embrace and he knew the moment she let herself go, taking him with her. The constant vigilance and hyper-awareness that had been so much a part of him since waking in this strange land. The ever-present fear of attack or sabotage, the lurking sense of "wrongness" that shadowed his every waking moment.

Gone.

She was home for him.

Safe.

Wrapped in the loving arms of a woman he knew, _must_ have known for a lifetime. The one small corner of his mind that held back, the higher-functioning part of him, retained enough focus to recognize and acknowledge a deeper connection to Thera than a few weeks' acquaintance could account for. Then her arms tightened around him and even that last area of his brain lost its connection to reality.

This . . . this was everything. All he'd ever wanted or needed. Or would ever need again.

When, a lifetime later, he eased back and slid his lips down her cheek to her neck, Thera moaned softly. "J-j-j-a-a . . ."

Jonah froze, his arms holding her tightly to him. "'Ja'?"

Thera stiffened in his arms, and he could feel the tension vibrating through her. When he would have pulled away she stopped him. "N-n-no. Jonah . . ."

"Shh. No. Wait." Squeezing her again, Jonah held completely still, his attention turned inward, again chasing a rapidly fleeing memory.

Thera waited, concern written on her face.

Finally, slowly, he relaxed again in her arms. He let out a long, slow breath and melted again into her embrace.

"Jonah?"

His head still buried in her neck, Jonah answered, "You…when you called my name, for one second I thought you were going to say something else."

"I'm sorry. I…" And Thera stopped, thinking hard. "You're . . . you're right. I almost called you . . . oh, it's so close!" She frowned again, but now her attention was on him. Her gaze darkened and she reached up to trace his brow with a touch so light he shivered. "Jonah," she whispered, half rising beneath him. "You know, don't you, that you're the only one I–"

"Shh." Jonah leaned her back, still within the circle of his arms. He lifted one hand and raised a finger to her lips. "I know." He slid his arm back around her slim waist and bent to rest his forehead against hers. "It's just that for a second, I thought I remembered…" He trailed off, then shrugged. "Dunno. Just…"

"Something?"

"Yeah."

"Me too."

Lifting his head again he stared into her eyes. They had to leave soon, he knew. Had to get back. He was always careful when they came here and he didn't want anyone following them. Discovering them.

And as much as he knew they needed to leave, he wanted to stay. He raised his hand and trailed his fingers down her cheek, then traced her lips, smiling when she pushed a kiss onto his fingertips.

"We should go," he whispered to her, and was gratified by the sadness that slipped into her eyes.

"No."

"Thera . . ."

"No." Thera mimicked his movement and traced her fingers across his lips before pulling his head back down to hers. As her lips met his, she whispered, "We have a few more hours, Jonah. I need to spend them here. With you."

Jonah gave himself up to her and she responded in kind. And later, a long, loving time later, after he helped her dress again to return to their quarters, he hesitated at the doorway to their space, his heart aching at having to return to a place where she was not sleeping beside him.

"Thera," he said, stopping her from leaving. When she turned he leaned in and kissed her again, then stopped, his heart in his throat.

"Jonah, what is it?"

He breathed in, taking in the scent of _them_, and taking courage from that.

"I love you."

He felt Thera's body go still and he met her gaze with his. And his heart staggered again when that slow, sweet smile slipped across her lips. She reached up and kissed him, whispering, "I love you, Jonah," before turning and leading him back to reality.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Post Evening Meal

Day 37

The cold in their corridor had deepened such that Jonah had found them a new place. Not as secluded, but certainly warmer. It was good enough to just sit in, at least. Not good enough for . . . other things, but enough for some quiet time together.

They'd come tonight, after loving one another again, leaving early enough so they could be seen in and around the living quarters. Jonah was worried that they'd draw too much attention if they were gone every night, but Thera had pulled him to their place first.

She'd insisted on it.

Demanded it, even.

And who was he to ignore the demands of a woman like her?

So, after satisfying themselves, they'd wandered hand-in-hand to one of the brighter, warmer areas and talked about anything and nothing. Thera shared some of her ideas for more improvements and Jonah happily listened. He didn't understand most of what she said, but he was happy to be her sounding board. Really, he was happy to hear her recite valve readings if she wanted, as long as she did so with him.

After a while their talk turned again to Carlin and his ideas. More and more he was beginning to believe that Carlin was on to something. Too much just didn't make sense.

"What if we _are_ night sick?" Jonah asked again.

"I don't think so, Sir!"

"What?" He turned to her, puzzled again by the title.

"What?" Thera echoed him.

"You just called me 'sir' again, like you did when we were talking with Carlin."

"Well it's an expression, isn't it?"

"Not that I know of." He looked away and then back. "I don't like it, it makes me . . . I dunno. Unhappy."

"Sorry."

"'s okay."

Thera shifted and laid her head on his shoulder. "You know there are things about this place that I like."

"Really?"

He looked down to find her looking up at him, her eyes wide and twinkling, a tiny half-smile on her face, her expression one he was sure he'd seen before. Especially when he was being particularly dense. "Ah," he blew out a quiet breath. After a minute he turned toward her again and asked, "Would it mean anything if I told you I remember something else?"

"What?"

"Feelings," he said, searching his memory.

"Feelings?"

"I remember feeling . . . _feelings_."

"For me?"

This time it was his turn to give her the 'look,' and he added another layer to it. "No, for Tor."

Thera snorted softly and buried her face in his shoulder for a moment. Jonah, despite making her smile, did not smile himself. He was once again chasing another memory, the echo of her faint laughter ringing in his mind. "I don't remember much. But I do remember that."

"So . . ."

"So . . . I'm just saying."

Thera snuggled deeper into his shoulder and he could hear the sadness in her voice despite her next words, "Well then I feel better."

She reached up and slid her hand along his leg, moving from his knee up until she reached his arm where it lay across his thigh. She pulled until he'd unclasped his hands and then reached around, tangling her fingers in his, cradling his hand in her lap.

Whatever was going on, whoever they were, he was here with her.

He could live with that.

~ o0o ~

P3R-118

Worker Level 2, Section 23

Early Morning, Brenna's Office

Day 45

Jack waited until Daniel and Brenna were out of the room before turning to meet Carter's nervous gaze.

Carter.

_Carter._

He stared at her, waiting . . . hoping . . .

"So . . . Colonel."

And his hope died. He carefully kept his face still, wondering if he still had that little 'tell' tic near his eye. Hopefully she was far enough away that she wouldn't see it.

"Major." He was proud that his voice was even.

"That bald man you were trying to remember . . ."

So. She was going for light. He could do light.

He was the good at light.

He was the fucking _master_ of light.

Light it was.

Giving her a small nod, he answered, "General Hammond."

"Right."

The small smile she gave him was nearly his undoing. Quickly he went for more . . . light. "He's from Texas you know. It's all coming back."

"Yes, Sir."

_Sir._ Once again his stomach swooped at that word, but at least now he knew why. Despite his resolve, some of his pain leaked through with his next word. "Sir," he repeated, his gaze holding hers.

Her tiny flinch told him everything.

One word. One tiny word, and everything will stay here. Every_one_ will stay here.

Jonah.

Thera.

Jonah and Thera.

Gone.

It was her flinch that told him that everything he was feeling she is was feeling as well. And standing here would not make it better. Very softly he said, "Let's go home."

Thera—_Carter_ he reminded himself sternly—held on for a few seconds more before she nodded. "Yes, Sir," she acknowledged before walking past him to the gateroom, careful to not touch him.

As she walked past him Jack took a long, steadying breath in, then stopped as the scent of her filled his senses. With those scents come almost overpowering flashes.

Him.

Her.

Them.

Tangled together.

Lost in each other.

And just as quickly as she has passed him, the flashes faded, and Jack let them. Forced them to go.

Because, he realized, he had _always_ smelled her, and appreciated that unique Carter scent of hers. But now . . . now he _knows_. He knows how she moves.

And feels.

And tastes.

And that's not good.

That's not good at all.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Once again . . . Leiasky is wonderful and a great beta. I hope this meets everyone's expectations.


	11. Closure

A/N: _BtS_ was such a powerful and game-changing episode that it deserves two _Campfires_. As always, Leiasky rules as another writer off of whom to bounce stories.

Set immediately and in the days following SG-1's rescure in _Beneath the Surface_ on Earth. Episode synopsis: _With their memories erased and their identities changed, SG-1 find themselves trapped below a domed city on a planet of ice, toiling as slave laborers._

~ o0o ~

_**Closure**_

~ o0o ~

Earth  
Cheyenne Mountain Complex  
Stargate Command  
1755 Hrs

Sam slipped past the excited personnel in the gateroom, pulling the disgusting orange pullover off as she did so. If she hurried, she would hit the locker room before the others. It was always first come, first served and this was one time she was determined to be first. Keeping her eyes carefully down, she slipped past her CO, nodded once to General Hammond, and turned down the long corridor leading to the stairs. Stairs were faster than the elevator. And better for her.

She flipped the locker-room door sign to "Women" and slipped inside, blowing out a grateful breath. She took a few seconds to gather herself, then lifted the receiver on the phone and quickly hit Janet's extension.

"_Fraiser."_

"Hey Jan."

"_Sam! Thank God. Wait . . . why are you calling me? I'm expecting you he—"_

"I need to take a shower first, Janet. Please. I'll be down immediately after, but I need this. It was a long . . . I don't even _know_ how long it was." She scrubbed her face with her hands, then looked down, realizing just how filthy her hands were.

"_Forty-five days."_

"Forty—no." Staggered, Sam sagged against the wall. They'd been in that . . . place for more than a _month_? It didn't seem possible. It didn't seem . . . real.

And yet.

So much of it _had_ been real. And honest. And . . . _oh God._

Sam choked back a sob as fear and longing warred with each other, each fighting for control.

"_Sam?" _

Janet's voice was sharp with concern and that alone pulled her back from the edge. She took another deep breath and said firmly, "Janet, I'll be in the infirmary for my checkup after my shower. Can you please let . . . my team know?" She could hear an increase of noise in the background and knew that the Colonel, Daniel, and Teal'c had most likely hit Janet's domain.

"_I'll take care of it." _Janet paused, then added. _"Just tell me you're okay, Sam."_

"I'm okay. I always am." She didn't wait for a response before returning the phone to its mount. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she carefully cleared her mind, then stepped forward to her locker.

Shower. Infirmary. Home.

In that order. Once there, she could . . . what? She didn't know, but all that mattered was taking the first step. The others would follow.

~ o0o ~

Earth  
Cheyenne Mountain Complex  
Stargate Command  
1915 Hrs

Sam sat on the infirmary bed waiting for Janet to finish her exam. She dutifully stared straight ahead as the penlight tested her pupil reaction and then opened her mouth for Janet to check her throat.

"No physical signs of being drugged, but I guess we'll wait for the blood work to come back before being sure. You've got some cuts on your arms and hands . . ."

"It was hard work, but it was an honor to–" Sam stopped, then shook her head ruefully. "Sorry, conditioned response. The work was hard."

"Okay."

Janet eyed her carefully and Sam forced herself to meet her friend's gaze. To keep her breathing slow and even, to keep her fingers still. After a moment, however, she couldn't take it. "What?"

"Sam," said Janet softly. "Do I need to do a kit? Or order . . . other . . . blood work?"

"No."

The silence in the room was deafening, but Sam wouldn't break. She kept her gaze even, her eyes steady on Janet's and finally the smaller woman nodded, only her raised eyebrow giving comment.

"Okay. But," she held up a hand. "You, along with your team, will have to be cleared by Mackenzie before returning to active duty. Your little response earlier just confirms that for me."

Sam nodded, already sliding off of the bed. "I know, Janet. I know. I just want to go home now. Am I good?"

"You are. And when you see Colonel O'Neill, remind him that sneaking out and then back into the infirmary before I'm finished will not make it easier the next time he's due for a shot."

Confused, Sam just nodded. "Sure. See you later."

She couldn't leave fast enough. Two items on her list down, one to go. Contrary to what Janet thought, Sam was going to do everything possible to _avoid_ seeing Colonel O'Neill, so her message would have to wait. Nothing and no one was going to stop her from going home now. She kept her head down as she headed for the elevators, shrugging into the light light jacket she'd brought with her.

In no time at all she was crossing the lot to her car and she slipped her hands into her jacket pocket for her keys.

Then she froze, mid-stride.

Sam absently acknowledged the salutes of two passing sergeants and pulled her keys out of her pocket, carefully keeping the piece of paper attached to the keyring out of view of anyone who might be watching. Her fingers shook as she worked the folded sheet free. She took a deep breath and then unlocked her car and slipped inside, the note clutched in her still-shaking fingers.

She took one breath.

Two.

Willing her fingers to stop shaking she unfolded the note. She recognized his handwriting, of course. Aside from three and a half years of reading his hand-written reports, she had one or two personal notes from him that she kept tucked safely away. Her eyes filled and she had to blink two or three times before she could make out the words.

_Firepit._

_2000._

_J._

Cryptic enough to not incriminate should anyone else find it, clear enough to her. Reading it again, she snorted at the signature, such as it was. "J."

_Which "J" wrote it, Jonah or J-jack?_, she wondered, and then cursed herself silently for stuttering over his name even in her head.

She knew it didn't matter which "J" wrote it, she'd go.

She had to.

She needed to.

It seemed someone _was_ going to stop her from getting home after all.

~ o0o ~

Earth  
Jack O'Neill's Home  
1955 Hrs

Sam walked around the side of O'Neill's house and through to the back yard. As she'd expected, he had already built a large, blazing fire in the pit at the bottom of the yard. The note had said "firepit," so she hadn't bothered to go to the door. She picked her way across the yard in the darkness, careful to make enough noise to not startle the man seated beside it. He was perched on the cushion, _their_ cushion, and for just a second Sam was transported back to the secluded space he'd made for them both back in the steamy hell they'd just escaped.

The room where he'd fed her.

The room where they'd–

"Carter."

"Sir." Sam pushed away the memories and stepped forward as he waved her to sit beside him. She hoped he didn't notice her brief hesitation, but when she finally lowered herself to her familiar place, she realized he had.

"Thank you for coming."

She watched as he tossed another long on the already blazing fire. "So, no Daniel or Teal'c?"

"You really want them here for this?"

She sighed. "No, I guess not."

Leaning back against the bench, she let her head fall back onto the seat, staring unseeing at the stars winking above. Before, before the mission, before Jonah and Thera, she'd have been thrilled to be here, alone with him. Nervous, cautious, but still thrilled. Now . . . now things were different.

Now she didn't only know the faint aftershave scent of him mixed with whatever detergent he used, now she knew the scent of _him_. The _taste_ of him. Now she knew . . . not all of it, not everything about him, but enough of him to want more. Especially more of what they'd shared. Not just the physical part—though there was no denying that had been as spectacular and fulfilling as she'd allowed herself to imagine—but the intimacy. The closeness.

The freedom, such as it was, to love.

And she knew enough to know that _wanting_ more didn't . . . couldn't . . . mean _having _more.

"So . . .," he said in typical O'Neill fashion, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

"Yeah. So." Sam suppressed a shiver as the wind rose, whipping the flames in the pit into a spin. She thought back to their conversation after the whole Zatarc fiasco, then to earlier today of the expression on his face when she'd called him "Sir." Turning to face him, she waited until he too turned to meet her gaze. She took advantage of their unique circumstances to simply study his face.

With her eyes only, though her fingers longed to trace the same path, she took in the worried crease between his brows and the broken eyebrow above his left eye. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his chisled features, hiding the golden flecks she knew danced in his eyes in happier times. The strong line of his cheekbones and jaw made her fingers twitch again and she clamped them together tightly in her lap. She carefully avoided looking at his lips, instead flicking her gaze back up to his.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Colonel, I–"

"Here, remember, it's Jack."

Sam's heart tumbled again. "Okay." She swallowed hard and tried again. "Jack . . . remember after the Zatarc testing?"

His brow wrinkled in confusion, then his expression cleared. "Yeah, of course."

"Remember when I told you that none of what we'd said had to leave that room?" When he nodded, she continued. "This is the same thing."

"It's not, Sam." O'Neill shook his head, his eyes still on hers.

"It can be."

"It's different now. I know . . . things. You."

"Yes," she answered, her eyes filling despite her resolve. "And I know _you_."

"So . . . not the same."

"Okay," she conceded. "Not the same." She tipped her head and asked, "You asked me then if 'we' were okay with leaving what we discussed then in that room." She reached out and tangled her fingers with his. "I'm asking you now if you're okay leaving what we've . . . discovered . . . back on that planet. Back with . . . them."

O'Neill was silent, and Sam bit her lip when he lowered his eyes and turned back to the fire. He lifted a charred stick and pocked at the burning logs, sending showers of sparks up into the air. The sight was so familiar to her, so many fires, so many worlds, so many of them right here in this yard. The familiarity was comforting. Soothing.

Knowing him, and knowing he needed some time to think, Sam left her hand in his and returned to her stargazing. She idly began to identify constellations, finding shapes and assigning names remembered from discussions with the man who was sitting so silently by her side.

"You know what sucks?"

Sam snorted and tried to sort through the myriad of things that could qualify as "suckage." Losing 45 days of her life, losing her identity for that time, working as slave labor for all of that time with very little to eat and even less rest, sleeping with her commanding officer . . .

No, wait, that part didn't suck.

Or . . . well, yes.

No.

_Crap. _

She shook her head and gave up. "Which _one_ thing would that be?"

"Not saying goodbye." O'Neill's voice was low, almost inaudible.

Sam stared at his profile, watching as his jaw worked. Her fingers were still tangled with his and she leaned closer as he pulled her hand deeper into his lap and wrapped his other hand around both of theirs. She gave in to her need for comfort and her need to comfort him. Shifting closer, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, much as she'd done back in the steam trunk room.

She knew this was something she shouldn't do, that _they_ shouldn't do, but for now, tonight, "shouldn't do" didn't matter as much as it, well, should. Tonight was their chance, the only one they'd have, to put to rest what had grown between them.

Or to put it aside.

For a while.

Together they watched the fire burn low, lost in their own thoughts. Sam felt her eyes grow heavy and she fought sleep. It had been a long day. Week. Month. And a half. Realizing she still had to drive home, she lifted her head and bit down firmly on a yawn. She thought again of what he'd said about not having had the chance to say goodbye.

"Si– Jack."

"Mmh?"

"They don't really need to say goodbye."

He looked over at her and lifted an eyebrow. She gave him a tired smile and tapped her chest and then reached around to touch his and tapped there too. "They're still here, you know."

The Colonel didn't say anything. He captured her hand and held it there, now holding both of her hands in his. His gaze on hers was as open and pained as it had been earlier, just before they'd followed Daniel and Brenna back through the gate. Sam's heart stuttered at the pain that was there, at this rare moment of raw honesty.

And because tonight didn't count, because tonight was the last time they'd speak of it for a long time—a very long time—she leaned closer and whispered a quiet goodbye.

"She still loves Jonah, you know." She stood, her hands still held against his chest. He rose with her and she stepped close and lifted her chin, pressing her lips to his. "And she always will."

Then she turned and walked away, leaving him standing by the still glowing embers.

~ o0o ~

Earth  
Sam Carter's Home  
0612 Hrs  
Three weeks later

Sam stood staring at the stick laying on the bathroom counter, resisting the urge to lean closer. Same result as the last time she'd checked. She checked her watch again and then returned the bedroom. She'd give it another minute, just in case. It felt good to be up and moving with a purpose again, though she knew she'd needed the time away. For the first time in her life she'd been grateful to be ordered off of the base. She'd scheduled her sessions with Mackenzie during times she knew O'Neill was busy and when, after a week and a half of endless talking about her _feelings_, the shrink had cleared her for leave and an eventual return to duty, Sam had hit the road.

Nine days on her Indian, chasing the sun or the moon, had been far more therapeutic than any couch-time in any psychologist's office. She'd texted Daniel morning and night to let him know she was okay, but other than that had had no contact with her team, Janet, or even Cassie. Yesterday had been her first day back on base, and that was only for a brief meeting with Hammond and her team to confirm that Mackenzie had cleared them all. She was looking forward to getting back into a normal rhythm.

Rhythm.

The word echoed through her brain and she looked at her watch again, wondering if she dared check the stick in the bathroom one more time. Before she could decide, she heard a faint knocking at her front door. Curious, she walked down the hall, trying to get a glimpse of her early-morning visitor through the front door. The knock sounded again and Sam suddenly recognized the pattern. She took a deep breath and opened the door to find her CO standing there, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Colonel?"

"Hey."

Sam stepped back and waved him in. Like her, he was dressed in civilian attire. Like her, he would change when he got on base and got ready to begin his duty day.

"Is everything okay?"

"No. Well . . . I don't know." The Colonel stood in her hallway and she watched him glance around the room. He raised a hand and ran it through his hair, upending the fine strands, and her own reached halfway up to smooth it down before she caught herself. They both stared at her upraised hand and then she shrugged, giving him a half-smile.

The one he returned was just as pained.

"So . . ." he began, then stopped.

After a minute Sam, after glancing at her watch, waved him into the kitchen. "So?" she asked, silently offering him a cup of coffee.

"I, ah . . . ah hell." Clearly uncomfortable, he took a large swallow of his coffee, then grimaced as the heat scalded his tongue.

Sam turned and grabbed a glass from the cupboard, quickly filling it with cold water and handing it to him. "Here."

"Thanks."

She just nodded in return and leaned against the counter, waiting for him to speak.

Finally, after examining every corner of her kitchen, he met her gaze. "Okay, look. I'm just gonna come out and say it."

Sam put her own cup of coffee aside and waited, her hands in her pockets. She resisted the urge to check her watch again, thinking of the slim stick resting on her bathroom counter.

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?" She shook her head. "I mean, what? Why? You saw me yesterday. We both briefed General Hammond after Mackenzie–"

"I don't mean that."

Sam stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about. When she remained silent, O'Neill shifted uncomfortably, his index finger tapping a staccato rhythm on his glass of water. Finally he said, "Carter, I may not be the sharpest apple at the picnic, but even I can count."

_Count? _Sam studied him, wondering what he was asking. After their talk over his firepit three weeks ago, she'd thought they'd settled . . . things. Thought they'd agreed on a plan. There shouldn't be anything left to discuss about their time in the steamy caverns. They'd said goodbye, Thera and Jonah, and had agreed to build a new relationship. A relationship that acknowledged a deeper, more profound knowledge of each other.

She watched his eyes, saw them leave her face and drop down . . . lower than her chest, then back up, holding her gaze. Surely he couldn't . . . didn't mean . . .

_Crap_.

"Excuse me," she muttered and brushed past him to head back down to her room. She didn't stop at his half-hearted "Carter," simply waved a hand and continued to her bathroom. After looking at it to be sure she'd read it right earlier, she snatched up the plastic wand and returned to the kitchen. Silently, she held it out to him, hoping she'd guessed right about what he'd _not_ been saying.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock above the sink. How many of those ticking minutes passed, Sam couldn't say. Her attention was wholly focused on him.

On his face.

On the stick in his hands.

On the faint trembling she could see in his fingers.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and she stepped closer to him, gently easing the plastic from his fingers and laying it on the counter behind him. She silently took his hand and led him through the patio doors and out onto her back deck. She sat on the top step, tugging him down beside her. Once he was seated she released his hand, though she missed the warmth of it in hers.

They sat together silently, watching the early morning sun paint the yard in golden light, limning the green leaves with gold. When the sun eventually peeked over the corner of her house, bathing them both in warmth, she turned to him.

"Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you." His hands were unnaturally still, hanging down, his elbows resting on his knees.

Sam took a slow, deep breath and carefully considered her answer. Was she okay? "I . . . yes. I am." She paused. "I think."

"You think?" He turned to face her, his eyes intent on hers.

She ducked her head, then looked up again to meet his gaze. "Yeah. But . . ." Should she go there? Should she tell him all of it?

"But . . ." He echoed.

Nodding to herself, Sam said softly, "I'm . . . I'm disappointed, I think." She looked away, unable to face his reaction as she continued. "It would have been so much easier if . . . if it had been positive. An easy way out, kind of."

"Easy?" O'Neill's voice was incredulous. "Carter, having to go up to Hammond and tell him that we'd not only violated every known regulation in Air Force Instruction–"

"Thirty-six dash two nine zero nine." She supplied.

"Yes, that one. Telling him and then . . . well, the rest of the world, including your _dad_, and you're saying _that_—as well as admitting we'd omitted a significant detail from our reports—would have been . . . _easy_?"

"Well, when you put it that way . . .," Sam didn't stop the small chuckle and she, without thinking, bumped his shoulder with hers. Then she froze.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry."

"No," said O'Neill. He reached out and tapped her knee gently and she looked over and met his gaze. "Don't stop doing that."

"Okay." A car beeped twice at the neighbor's house and Sam heard a shout of laughter as Tommy Kinkaid ran out to greet his friends. She couldn't help but smile at the sound.

"I'm sorry you're disappointed, Sam."

She turned back to him. "Are you? Really?"

"I am." O'Neill blew out a sharp breath, then admitted, "On several levels."

"Oh."

"For probably the same reason you are." He stopped and turned to face her fully. "We go back today."

"I know."

"We've had, what, three weeks to sort out any 'issues,' as Hammond put it?"

"Yes."

"Have we done that?"

"I think so." Sam blew out a quiet breath. "I, um, have a request though, Sir."

"What is it?"

"I know you said when we're off duty that I should call you 'Jack,' but . . . I don't think I can." She stared at him, hoping he'd understand and not take it as a rejection. "Not right now, anyway."

"Ah." He nodded, his eyes holding hers. "Guess 'Sam' is out then, too, eh?"

"For now."

"For now," he echoed. "I can live with that."

"So can I."

"And the other . . .?" he asked, waving a hand back toward the kitchen where the negative pregnancy test still sat, left but not forgotten, on the counter.

Sam shrugged, trying to keep her answer light, though she dropped her gaze away and looked out over the yard. "Well, I probably shouldn't have worried, with Jolinar and all."

"Sam–"

"Carter," she corrected.

"Carter," he amended before he reached over and tipped her chin up, bringing her gaze back to his. "We'll deal with that when the time comes."

"'We?'"

"Yes. We."

His voice was firm and his eyes clear, he meant it. Sam could see, highlighted by the early sun, the golden flecks she loved so much dancing in the tawney brown of his eyes, and she let herself relax into his touch for just a minute. They would be fine, she knew. They'd made it through this, turning to each other even when they had no knowledge or understanding of any other relationship; together they'd made it through.

With a single word he'd reminded her that there was no longer just a 'her,' or just a 'him.' There was a 'we.'

And together they'd see what came next.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): I always felt that there needed to be more closure to the Jonah/Thera story. I also know that the kind of closure that should _really_ have happened did not good television make—that is the job of fanfiction! :)

So. There you go.


	12. Residual Flux

A/N: At end, save for this: As always, Leiasky is the best beta around. Bar none. Thanks for the late-night read, pal.

Set after _Point__ of No Return_ on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _When __a quirky conspiracy theorist contacts SG-1 claiming to know classified information about the Stargate, at first they think he's bluffing. But when they investigate his wild claims, they realize he's a lot closer to the truth than they thought._

~ o0o ~

_**Residual Flux**_

~ o0o ~

P61-126  
6Km ENE of Stargate  
Second Watch  
2217 Hrs SGC Time; Sunset +6 Local

The stars glittered brightly in the velvety blackness that stretched as far as the eye could see. Just two hours past moon-set, the night was blanketed in a kind of quiet Jack only felt when outdoors. Even the nighttime insects seemed to be snoozing, only the faint whispers of the wings of whatever nocturnal birds called this place home breaking the almost perfect silence.

Jack glanced across the still campsite, realizing it was almost too quiet. Daniel should be snoring about now, he'd gone to bed just an hour ago. It usually took the younger man that amount of time to – Yup, there it was.

_Now_ it felt right to Jack.

His gaze slid from the tent Daniel shared with Teal'c to the darkened bulk of his own tent beside it. Inside he knew Carter would be . . . should be . . . fast asleep. Most likely curled onto her right side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other–Jack firmly redirected his thoughts. He shouldn't be thinking of that.

Shouldn't _know_ that about her.

And he did. Know her that is. Even in the biblical sense.

_Especially_ in the biblical sense.

No. Not going there.

Again.

Jack blew out a soft sigh and looked around the campsite once again. A routine sweep of his gaze, his senses alert for any changes in the air around him. Subtle shifts in the small night noises of the planet they'd called home for three days and would, if Daniel was right, call home for two more.

This was the team's first mission back into the field after a harrowing few months. More than 45 days as enslaved and brainwashed prisoners, then another two weeks of enforced down time followed by their encounter with the non-so-crazy alien, Marty.

Marty.

Jack stretched and scratched his head, his fingers upending his hair, only to smash down the silvery strands once again with his worn cap. Poor, lost, Marty. He shook his head. Squirrelly little guy, but he'd kind of grown on Jack over the days. Especially after finding that Marty's fellow refugees had drugged half of Jack's own team. Marty's erstwhile pals were damned lucky that Carter and Daniel hadn't been hurt, or Jack would have moved heaven and Earth to hunt the men down and make them pay.

A small pop at his feet drew Jack's attention down to the fire at his feet and he reached around to grab another log. He didn't want the fire too bright to avoid ruining his night vision, but it was almost time for Carter's watch and he knew she'd want coffee to stay awake.

As if she'd heard his thought, Jack looked up at the soft sound of fabric on fabric, spotting even in the faint light of their small fire the golden cap of her hair. The incredibly _short_ cap of hair she wore as a result of their time in the steamy bowels of planet sweat-them-to-death as he thought of it. Jack watched her as she quietly made her way out of the immediate area of the campsite, knowing she was attending to nature's call before her tour, then he frowned and flipped open the cover of his watch. In the indiglo light he could see that she was very early for her turn watching over the camp.

When she returned, she stepped around the fire to seat herself at his side instead of returning to the tent. Jack studied her for a moment. She didn't seem distressed in any way, just quiet and tired, but that was to be expected.

"Okay?"

"Hmm? Yes, Sir. I know it's early for my watch but I couldn't sleep."

Jack nodded. He could sympathize. He had his own bouts of insomnia that often carried over into missions, despite his best efforts.

"You think Martin's going to be okay?" Carter asked quietly.

Jack considered for a minute, thinking again of the odd little man who'd fought so hard to show that he really _wasn__'__t_ crazy. "Sure," he finally answered. "Don't you?"

Beside him, Carter shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

"Out with it, Carter."

"I don't know, Sir. I can't imagine realizing that your entire _planet_ had been wiped out."

She glanced up at him, her blue eyes washed pale in the dim light of the fire. Jack nodded slowly, remembering the look on Marty's face as they'd seen the still-smoking remains of the man's home world. "He'll be fine, Carter. Fraiser set him up with a good counselor. I'm sure he'll be okay."

"Yeah."

Jack stretched and arched his back, wincing at the cracking he was sure could be heard by any living creature nearby. It was too early for him to turn in, and he wasn't really tired. And, truthfully, he didn't want to miss this opportunity to sit beside his Second.

Oh, he knew they'd come to an understanding. They'd both agreed to put aside what they'd shared. What they'd learned and discovered about each other, about themselves, while living brainwashed lives, but that didn't mean Jack wasn't going to take any opportunity to enjoy the company of not only his Second, but a woman he considered a good and trusted friend.

"Can I tell you something, Sir?"

Jack nodded, once again lifting his gaze to scan the surrounding area and wondering what she was going to drop on him now. He let his imagination run for a moment.

_I was wrong, Jack. I don't want to put it aside._

_How __can__ we __make __it __work,__ Sir? __Can__ we __just __bend__ the__ rules?_ No, his Carter wasn't a rule-bender. That was Jack's role.

_I__'__m__ going __to__ quit __and __work __in__ the __labs._ No, that was the stuff of romance novels. Why should Carter have to put aside her career?

_I__ can__'__t__ live __without __you, __Jack._ He snorted at that one. Even in his head it sounded funny.

"Sir?" Carter clearly hadn't seen his head nod and had only heard his snort of barely suppressed laughter.

"Sorry, Carter." Jack waved a hand. "Sure, what's up?"

Carter fidgeted with the mug he'd been using earlier and finally looked up. "I'm well, I know this sounds stupid, but–"

_Oh __my __God_. Jack's brain froze. _She__'__s __really__ gonna __say__–_

"I'm really _bored_ here."

"Carter, don't –" Jack stopped. "Wait, what?" Carter was . . . _bored_? Carter didn't get bored. Carter did math. She thought deep thoughts. She . . . she . . . well hell. Shaking his head, sure he'd misheard her, he bent closer to her and said, "Sorry, what was that?"

Even the faint light of the fire couldn't disguise the flush that colored her cheeks. "I, ah, well. I'm bored." She gestured toward Daniel's tent. "Daniel's in his element, deciphering and puzzling, and even Teal'c's happy. He's been working through the runs on the end wall, in the amphitheater area . . ." Carter trailed off, looking slightly ashamed. "What can I say? I'm bored."

Jack rested his elbows on his knees and looked at her. "You know, Carter, of all the things I might have thought I'd hear from you, 'I'm bored' is not one of them." He frowned. "Don't you have some . . . I dunno, _physics_ to ponder?"

Carter leaned back against the tree behind her and crossed her arms almost defensively across her chest. "What can I say, Colonel? I got nuthin.'"

"Huh."

They sat in silence for a while, absently sharing coffee from the same mug. The fire burned low again and this time it was Carter who added a log to the embers. She stirred the glowing coals and together they watched the sparks swirl up to blend into the blanket of stars above.

Finally Carter looked over at him. "So?"

"So?" Jack echoed.

"What do _you_ do?"

"About?"

"Colonel."

Only Carter could use that tone with him, he realized. It said so much. _Don't__ be__ an __idiot,__ Sir.__ Quit__ yanking __my__ chain,__ Sir.__ Stop__ messing__ around,__ Sir._

Always with the damned 'sir' at the end, even in his thoughts.

"Depends." Jack shifted and tipped his head back, carefully stretching his legs out toward the tiny fire.

"On?"

Oh hell, she really wanted to know. He couldn't tell her that he spent a ridiculous amount of time wondering if there were any way around the Instructions that prevented him from coming home to her each night. Or wondering how they'd fare without her on SG-1. Or without him. Or...any myriad of other thoughts that randomly popped into his head. Like whether the Asgaard had toilets, or if frogs had assholes...no. None of that, really. Though, knowing Carter, neither of the last two would surprise her, he was sure. Nor the first thoughts, for that matter, but he'd leave that alone.

"Dunno, Carter. Depends on the day? Week? Crises du jour?"

"Oh."

Tipping his head, he studied her profile, appreciating-despite his resolve and their agreement-just how lovely a profile it was. Kissed by starlight and accented by the flickering flames of the tiny fire, her features were softened, yet brought out in relief, highlighting the not-so-subtle beauty that so often caught him off guard. Not that it was just the outside package that captured his attention, far from it. The engineering adage 'form follows function' was epitomized by this woman he realized. The beauty without encased a more profound beauty within. Not just her mind, which never-and he suspected ever would-ceased to amaze him, but her spirit. Hers was a beautiful soul, and one he counted himself...well, blessed, if he was honest...to have encountered in this life.

That she had chosen him, in the midst of all they'd suffered in the past two month still amazed him. Humbled him. And...honored him. As much as she was like Daniel, as much as the two of them shared in terms of brilliance and curiosity, she'd come to _him_.

And continued to do so.

Even in the form of pure friendship, and Jack realized he treasured her for that almost as much as the other.

Something in his silence must have alerted her, for she turned to him and caught his gaze. "Sir?" she asked softly, her gaze so open, so honest, that Jack wanted to give her something. Some small part of himself. Something he'd never shared before.

"Chess." He glanced at her and then away. "I play chess in my head."

He looked back and saw her forehead wrinkle as she puzzled it out. "You mean you figure out moves and things?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Games. Actual games." He nudged her shoulder, hoping for a smile. "I was thinking of starting a tournament."

"In your head?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Of course," she echoed faintly. "Why not?" She kept her eyes on his and her gaze was intense as she studied him. After a long moment she said, "Ah, do you...win...a lot?"

"Every time, that's the beauty of it."

"Every time?"

"Well," Jack tipped his hat off and scratched his head. "Once I had a 'draw,' but that's 'cause Daniel distracted me."

"Of course." Amusement colored her tone.

The fire burned lower, slowly giving way to the darkness that blanketed this side of the world. Neither officer moved, though they'd inched deeper into Carter's official watch hours. As the last of the embers began to lose their glow, Carter added a thick, gnarled log to the pit, then bent low to slowly coax the flames back to life.

When she eased back against her tree, she glanced over at him. "White or black?"

"Hm?"

"Unless you're too tired?"

He flicked a small smile at her and leaned deeper into the tree, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat for warmth. "Ladies choice," he offered with a dip of his chin.

"White. And..." She scratched her nose, thinking. "Um, I'm guessing we're dong the standard algebraic, or are we using some obscure 'O'Neill rules'"?

"Seeing as it's your first time in the pit, we'll go with the standard algebraic this time."

"Okay. One D two to D four."

"Going with a classic opening, I see."

"I've found the classics are classics for a reason, Sir."

"So they are. Eight E seven to E five."

"Classic counter, Sir."

"As you said..."

Carter rattled off her next move and he responded just as quickly, enjoying the challenge of competing with someone other than himself. As the night wore on, neither noticed the passing of the hours, though both remained alert to the land and sounds around them. One or the other would survey their campsite, always on the alert while the other focused inward, designing strategy, plotting moves.

They could do this, Jack realized. While he'd been worried immediately following their return, and even after while sitting on Carter's back steps talking about what had _not_ come about as a result of the change in their relationship...or Jonah and Thera's, he was not worried now.

More importantly, Jack thought, _he_ could do this. He could work beside and with this amazing, wonderful, brilliant woman and...make it work.

And, even better, he could allow himself to _enjoy_ the experience.

To enjoy her.

In the only way allowed.

For now.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): The title refers to the residual attraction left over after something is demagnetized. Make of that what you will. :)

If you're confused by the chess references, Google "chess by mail" and you'll learn a whole new thing. Enjoy.

Edit: Sorry, for some reason FFN ate the spaces between italicized words. Fixed that.


	13. 45 Heartbeats

A/N: At end, save for this: As always, all thanks and good feelings toward Leiasky for her beta skills and thoughtful insight. A single sentence and she made it better.

Set after Tangent on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: A test gone wrong leaves O'Neill and Teal'c marooned in space aboard a damaged SGC-modified Goa'uld glider.

~ o0o ~

45 Heartbeats

~ o0o ~

M82-731

Dark Side

2230 SGCS

5.7 Km SSW of Stargate

Sam ducked into the makeshift shelter they'd put together, grateful that both she and the Colonel had planned for the extreme cold. It was missions like these that she wished they team could make use of the four-wheel drive vehicles reserved for medical emergencies. If they had, they could have returned to Earth each night instead of freezing in the standard off-world tents.

The combat experienced officer in her knew that it wasn't safe to use the vehicles, to just waltz onto another world and four-wheel around as if they were on a play weekend in the mountains, but the shivering other half of her wished with all her heart sometimes that she was not on a frontline team and allowed such luxuries. At least she'd managed to make the tents warmer by covering the outsides with the wide pine-like boughs that not only provided some protection from the wind but also filled the tent with a crisp evergreen scent that she loved.

As she slipped on the extra layer of thermal wear in preparation for her watch, Sam idly considered the feasibility of putting some off-hours effort into small, portable, naquadah-enhanced personal heaters. Hmm, something to consider, actually. It might expand the SG teams' effectiveness to be able to—

"Carter, you coming out anytime soon?"

Sam hastily jammed her black knit watch cap onto her head and, quickly zipping up her jacket, backed out of the tent to join the rest of her team around the fire. She nodded toward Daniel and Teal'c, then settled herself down near O'Neill, gratefully taking the steaming mug from her CO.

"Get lost in there?"

"Funny, Sir. If I recall, I wasn't the one who was recently found floating in space."

"Touché, Carter." O'Neill took a sip of his coffee and nodded to her. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Sir?"

"The rescue."

"It's what we do."

"It is."

Sam flashed him a small smile and sipped her own tea. She kicked her booted feet forward, setting them as close to the fire as she could. The rescue. Oh yeah. She thought again of their approach to the tiny ship floating in the black velvety nothing of space. Of the way her dad looked at her when the strangled gasp slipped out of between her lips before she could stop it at the sight of the two men slumped motionless in their seats. Of the time it took to get a response from them. From him.

Twenty-seven heartbeats.

She could still hear them thundering in her ears. A deep, sonorous throbbing that echoed through her body, a painfully slow tempo that blurred her vision until a faint, _"__Carter?__"_ended her agonized counting.

Twenty-seven heartbeats that she would be happy to never relive were nothing, though, compared to the eighteen that she counted between the time the canopy of the Goa'uld fighter broke free and the men were clear enough for her dad to ring them aboard the Tel'tac. Sam shuddered slightly, trying to clear the vision from her head.

"Okay?"

"Yes, just thinking."

"'Course you were."

Though his tone was amiable, his words sliced through her and she fought to keep her face expressionless. She knew he didn't mean the oft-repeated phrase in any way other than a friendly poke about her almost incessant need to solve problems, but . . . well, it hurt nonetheless. Especially after General Vidrine's abrupt dismissal of her explanation of the X301's propulsion system.

"You okay?" O'Neill's voice was pitched low, for her ears only.

"Yes. Fine, thanks." Still avoiding his gaze, Sam took a long pull from her mug, allowing the sweet and welcome warmth the wash away the tiny hurt that his rejoinder had brought.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Daniel?"

"I was talking to Karen Palmer yesterday, and she mentioned something about a new program you're developing. Or, she is, and you're helping. Anyway, it's a translation thing?"

Sam looked across the fire at Daniel and smiled. "Yeah, we are. Actually, it was Alden who came up with the initial idea. We thought we might be able to make a symbolic matching program using an algorithm similar to the one used by law enforcement. You know, the fingerprint matching programs? Well, Alden thought, and I agree, that we can teach the new system to recognize similar patterns or symbols and associate them with different sounds."

Settling deeper into her seat, Sam inched closer to the fire, hoping it would warm her more. Across from her, Daniel refilled his own mug and sipped at it, one hand supporting his chin as his eyes lost focus. He was clearly trying to follow her thought process. "So, you'd what, be teaching it to speak?"

Sam shook her head. "No. We thought that if we could begin scanning some of the languages you've been unable translate, and compare those scans to languages we already have on file, both from here . . . er, Earth . . . and from, um, elsewhere, we might begin to make our own Rosetta Stone of sorts." Shrugging, Sam sipped her tea again, her face toward the fire but her eyes on something only she could see. "We're still playing around, really. I can't seem to get the basic algorithm right. I was thinking of handing it off to someone else, but it kind of bugs me, you know? I'd like to be able to turn this out. It's mostly a question of linguistic shifts and figuring out a root from which it all works. Well, that and scanning in the existing stuff and cataloging it, as well as working in the shape-recognition, but that's mostly on a coding level—

"Carter!" O'Neill's interruption wasn't so much loud as abrupt.

"Sir?"

O'Neill waved to where Daniel had gone back to writing in his notebook and Teal'c was staring thoughtfully into the fire, both of them clearly not focused on her explanation. As she had on the airstrip last week, Sam felt a rush of shame and embarrassment at letting her brain run off with her mouth.

Again.

She glanced up at O'Neill to find him studying her. "Sorry, Sir." She ducked her head and turned her gaze down and away.

"Hey." O'Neill's voice was quieter now. Sam looked up at him and saw him glance over to the other two men before returning his tawny gaze to her. "Don't do that."

"I know, Colonel. I forget sometimes and I—"

O'Neill frowned slightly and then shook his head. "No, not that, I mean . . . _that_. The chin thing."

Puzzled, Sam looked up at him. What chin thing was he talking about?

"You know, when you duck your head. Makes me feel like I've just . . . I dunno. Kicked a puppy."

"Oh. Sorry."

"And that, _that__'__s_ almost as irritating." Now O'Neill's tone was sharper, with a deeper edge to it.

"What is?"

"Apologizing. Stop it."

"Okay, sor– I mean, um. Yes, Sir." That seemed like the safest response. Sam didn't really know what to do, or what he wanted. She knew that her explanations sometimes made his eyes glaze over worse than did Daniel's seemingly endless information sessions about whatever culture it was they were about to encounter. General Vidrine's reaction to her explanation had certainly echoed her Colonel's most frequent response.

Blowing out a sigh, Sam shifted in her seat. She tried, really she did, but sometimes the technical aspects of what they encountered were so fascinating that she couldn't help _but_ talk about them, even though there really wasn't anyone else at the SGC who was able to follow most of what she said.

"Why do you do it?"

"Can't help it, I think. You ask, I answer. I can't not answer to the best of my ability, so . . ." Sam shrugged.

"No," O'Neill waved away her explanation. "That, I get. The head-duck thing. And the apologies. What's with that?"

"Oh." She turned to look at him, his profile cut in high relief by the flickering fire Teal'c had built earlier. He sounded sincere and Sam knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't ask if he hadn't meant it, but still . . . "Why do you want to know?"

"'S'cuse me?"

Sam bit her lip, realizing she'd just questioned her CO's motives. "Sorry, Colonel. I don't mean to be insubordinate, I'm just curious. Why do you want to know?" She sipped again at her tea. "I mean, well, you're one of the people who, um . . ." The deeper she got into her sentence, the more she realized that she was treading a fine line.

"Who cuts you off?" O'Neill nodded with her. "I do that," he acknowledged. "But," he raised a finger from his own mug, "since I'm the one who asked for the explanation in the _first_ place, I figure I get to stop you when–"

"When it goes on too long. I know, Sir. I'm working on it."

"Carter, cut it out." Now he sounded really irritated, though he kept his voice low, meant for just her alone.

Exasperated, Sam set her tea aside and jammed her hands into her pockets. She slid her knees up and rested her chin there, curling up as much for psychological reasons as for warmth. "What do you want me to say, Sir? You, General Hammond." She tipped her chin toward their teammates. "General Vidrine, even Daniel and Teal'c. You all ask for explanations, but when I give them, you stop me. Cut me off. So I apologize for going on too long and you don't like that either. The long explanations are a bad habit, I know. My Dad–"

"Whoa."

A hand settled on her arm, out of sight of the two men on the other side of the fire. O'Neill's grip on her arm was warm, even through the three layers she had on. He gave her arm a quick squeeze, then left his hand in place. "Easy, Carter. Stop." He glanced across the fire and then back at her. "Hit a hot button, did I?"

"Kind of."

O'Neill was silent for a minute, then he gave her arm a little shake before pulling his hand back. "You know why I, at least, stop you?"

"I really don't."

"Because most of the time I can get the gist of what you're saying in the first few seconds. Either you're that good, or . . . dunno, but I _get_ it. Anyway, after that . . ." He shrugged and offered her a tiny eye-squint, the O'Neill version of a small smile. "I really don't need to know the rest. At least not right then, during whatever crises it is that you're going to save us from." He grimaced as he sipped again from his mug and Sam didn't know if the face came from the topic or cold coffee. "It's rude, I know. But, well, in the middle of things the niceties tend to fall away."

"I understand."

"Do you?"

Now he turned his head to face her and Sam matched him, lifting her eyes to his. The blaze before them tossed shadow and light across his features, making his face more mobile than it was in the light of day.

"Carter, we . . . _I_ . . . count on you to save our asses on an almost weekly basis. Unfair? Yes. Do you come through? Always. To do that, time after time, requires that you always be thinking. I know that about you." He paused and then said more quietly, "I _like_ that about you."

Sam instinctively started to duck her chin down, to move her eyes away, but she caught the faint tightening around O'Neill's eyes and held firm. She shrugged back at him, not needing to say anything, letting her expression tell him that she wasn't ignoring him, ducking her head was a matter of habit.

"It's a bad habit, Carter." He responded as if she had spoken aloud.

"I know."

"Nobody should, _you_ especially should not, ever apologize for . . . brilliance. For knowledge. For competence. You've got that, Carter. In spades. _Never_ apologize. Not for that."

"Okay."

"Good."

Slipping her hand from her pocket, Sam lifted her now very cold cup of tea, looking for the caffeine boost, since warmth was no longer an option. She stared at the flames leaping and dancing, grateful that Teal'c, at least, had been paying enough attention to keep it roaring for them. The night wore on and eventually Daniel, then Teal'c bid both officers good night. O'Neill had set two-person watches for this mission leaving Sam and the Colonel to cover the first half of the night, two teammates alert in the numbing cold of the moon's dark side.

In the quiet stillness, Sam absently counted her heartbeats again, just to see how long 45 heartbeats was when she wasn't stressed. Didn't seem that long at all. She wondered what Einstein would make of that and absently wondered if anyone had ever studied perceptual time versus actual time. She could probably get a paper out of this if she—

"One more thing." Her Colonel's voice pulled her from her musings.

"Sir?"

O'Neill kicked a log deeper into the fire before adding another from the large stack the team had piled earlier. The pile served as both a fuel source and a wind break for part of their camp, though by morning it would be a much smaller barrier if the temperature kept dropping. Sam watched him wiggle and fiddle with the new fuel until he was apparently satisfied. When he leaned back and resettled himself, she faced him, giving him her full attention.

"When we're not on the brink of . . . death, destruction, mayhem, whatever," he began. "Feel free to continue your . . ." the Colonel waved a hand.

"Technobabble?" Sam supplied, a small smile on her face.

"Let's go with 'techospeak.' It's less . . . something." This time when he looked at her the smile in his eyes briefly touched his lips, echoing her own.

"Sure." She refilled the pan with water and set it closer to the fire. Time for a tea and coffee refill. As she prepared their drinks she watched O'Neill rise and circle the campsite, knowing he was making a brief pit stop before resuming their shared watch. When he returned, he came bearing two ultra-thin but very warm fleece sleeping bag liners. Sam took hers with a grateful smile and settled in for the next hour of their watch, careful not to count her heartbeats now since she was sure that same 45 would pass in less than a second.

"So . . . you really want me to explain this stuff to you?" She peered at him, carefully watching his expression. When he nodded, she muttered a quiet "Hm."

"What?"

"Just . . . I don't know, Colonel. I never figured you'd want to listen to me talk that much."

O'Neill glanced at her and then away. He was silent for a long time, and the sounds of the moon's night life was accompanied only by the gentle snoring coming from the direction of the tent in which Daniel slept and Teal'c rested. Eventually he looked over at her and nodded.

"Always."

Huh. Forty-five heartbeats could fly past in a nanosecond.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Got to meet and chat with the creative team behind _Castle_ today. What an awesome day. Oh, to write for them.


	14. Steam

A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky, brilliant beta work and a great, great friend.

Set after _The Curse_ on a planet of my own making. This story just barely references the episode, but I'll include the synopsis just because. Episode synopsis: When his former mentor dies, Dr. Jackson returns to his roots—and discovers an ancient Egyptian artifact containing a Goa'uld parasite. Daniel, Sam, and Dr. Fraiser head to Egypt to stop the Goa'uld while Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c are out of contact in Minnesota, fishing.

~ o0o ~

_Steam_

~ o0o ~

P9D-624  
08150 SGCS  
Sunset +1 Local  
Commandant's Guest Housing  
2.5 Km N of Stargate

"Carter, report!"

"Sir?" Her voice was muffled and low.

Jack leaned against the doorframe, careful to keep his head out of sight. He listened carefully to the sounds in the hallway behind his position and then to the softer noises coming from the room before him. He asked again, this time his voice quieter, "Carter?"

"Colonel, is that . . . I mean, what going on?"

A small splash accompanied his Second's words and Jack heard the sloshing sounds of a good-sized body of water being displaced. Easing closer to the open doorway he carefully peered around the frame, then quickly dropped his gaze at the flash of pale . . . oh, so pale, flesh.

"Sir!"

Carter's cry was more of a squeak than a shout, and Jack hastily turned his back, but continued his progress into the room. He waved an arm behind him, hoping that'd be enough to keep him from backing into something . . . or some_one_ . . . unexpected.

"Carter," he said shortly. "Sorry to intrude."

The water sloshed again and this time was followed by a loud bloop! as if something large had dropped into the water. _Don't think about her dropped into water. Her in water. Wet. Naked and . . . oh crap._

"Colonel, is there an emergency?" Carter's question was on the thin side of polite with a definite edge of frost.

Jack stopped, studying what he could see of the room from his position. Bright, gauzy fabrics hung from various points on the ceiling, shrouding the skylights and casting the room in overlapping pastel shadows. Other fabric hung over the windows, which were open to the warm, sultry night air. The polished floors were mostly covered in rich, intricately woven rugs. The walls, what he could see of them anyway, were decorated with tapestries as rich as the rugs beneath his feet. Her room looked like his, complete with the large hot tub built into one wall.

The team had barely had a chance to speak to one another after Commandant Tovan's aide had shown them to their rooms, quickly ushering each team member into separate chambers before rushing off on his own business. Jack hadn't been too concerned since Carter, Teal'c, and then Daniel had all radioed him to let him know where they were and that their radios still worked.

He'd been relaxing and considering dipping a toe in the good-sized tub in his room when he'd realized Carter was most likely considering doing the same in her own room. That was just about the time he'd realized, A) there were no doors on the rooms; and B) he wasn't thrilled about having his Second alone . . . _and naked, don't forget the naked part . . . _in a strange hot tub.

On a strange planet.

Without thinking twice he'd leapt to his feet, grabbed his weapon and darted toward her room. How he'd known which was hers, he didn't really stop to consider.

Nor had he considered Carter's reaction to his unexpected intrusion.

"Colonel?" Carter's voice was quieter now, though no less concerned.

"Probably not a good idea to go hot tubbing alone, Carter."

The strangled half-cough behind him clued him in just before his own brain caught up with his words. "Ah, well. I mean . . . crap."

The water sloshed again and despite having his back to her, Jack closed his eyes, trying to block the mental image of that water washing over that pale skin, sliding gently off of the freckles he knew lay hidden beneath–

"My weapon is right here, Sir." A familiar click and snick told him that she not only had her weapon at her side, but a round chambered and ready to go if necessary.

Of course she did. What the hell had he been thinking? Carter was nothing if not the best, and certainly able to take care of herself. In her lab, in the field, or in the hot tu– Jack quickly squelched that thought. Nodding once, he took a small step toward the door, trying to block not only the image of her in that tub from his head, but also the scents that were curling from the hot water. Soapy, clean smells with just a hint of some sort of citrus. The moist air was mingling the two with that always unique Carter-scent that he loved.

"Wait, Colonel. Please."

Jack froze, his eyes determinedly focused on the door-less entry.

"Would you . . . I mean." Carter blew out a soft sigh. "Daniel's already crashed out and I don't want to bother Teal'c. Would you mind staying?" The hair on the back of Jack's neck stood up and he turned his head slowly, then froze as she quickly added, "Ah . . . you could just sit. There. Over there. To your left. There's a–"

"I see it." Jack nodded and carefully crab-stepped his way across the room to the brazier that was lit despite the warmth of the evening. The fire dancing within was the only real light in the room, the cutouts on the sides of the copper basin allowed the flames to cast interesting dancing shadows that played along the hangings and tapestries. Outside the open windows, the warm night sky was lit with the last lingering rays of sun, though little of that light reached inside. "You light this?" He asked as he sat down on a large, overstuffed chair near the indoor fire, his face still carefully positioned away from the hot tub.

"Yes."

Water sloshed again and this time it was Jack who sighed. Carter must have heard him because another soft splash sounded, this time some of it spilling onto the raised tile dais upon which the tub sat. "I'm sorry, Colonel. You're tired. I'll just–"

"Carter. Stay in the tub." Even as the words left his mouth, Jack's eyes slid closed. _Well, that's not something I'd say every day._ "It's late, you're just as tired as I am. Take a few minutes. Unwind. Relax." Jack leaned forward and poked at the brazier. "Surprised you have this going, though. Kind of warm for it."

"I know," she said quietly, whatever she was doing in the tub causing the steamy water to swish and swirl. "Just didn't seem . . . right . . . without one."

"Hm." Jack thought of the fire crackling merrily away in his own room. Poking again, he spotted the small kettle atop the flattened lid of the copper dome. Taking a guess, he rose and lifted the pot and sniffed, then smiled as the familiar aroma of Carter's favorite tea joined the other scents dancing tantalizingly through the room on waves of steam and dew-dampened night air. Glancing around, careful to keep his gaze firmly away from the almost magnetic draw of the tub behind him . . . and the woman inside it . . . Jack spotted two mugs on the small table near the bed. "Mind if I pour?"

"Sure. Should be ready by now."

Again the silken sounds of water sliding over skin and trickling back into the tub reached him, and again Jack had to wonder at his sanity in coming in here. He quickly poured two cups and set the kettle back on the brazier. Tea wasn't his first choice, by any means, but he'd rather drink it than leave her here alone and risk . . . _What, Jack? What are you risking? Her telling you to stay out?_

_Shut up._

"Colonel. I'm sorry. It would have been okay for you to go, you know."

"I know. But I've seen this movie before. Pretty sure it involved a blue dress and me losing a sidearm." He yawned and then added, "'Sides, you asked me to stay."

Carter's quiet sigh barely reached his ears. "I did. It's easier to relax with you here."

_Relax? She can _relax_ with me here? Well at least one of us can. _Jack shifted in his plush seat and just sipped his tea. _Sure. Relaxed. Right. Okay._ He lifted his shoulders once, then dropped them again.

_Yup. _Mis_-ter relaxed, that's me. _

_You betcha._

_Snookums. _

Jack shook his head to silence the annoying voice in his head. "No problem, Carter. I'm all about having you relaxed."

_Oh. My. God. What the _hell_ was wrong with my mouth tonight!_

This time there was no mistaking the giggle that snorted out of his Second's mouth. Jack guessed that she ducked her face under the water because the sound was suddenly . . . wetter . . . but still definitely here. Another soggy snort followed and Jack couldn't hold back his own smile.

"I meant, _Colonel_, that I don't have to stay on alert the whole time."

"Not to worry, I can take care of both of us."

Even as he said it he knew it came out wrong and Carter didn't even bother to smother her peals of laughter. The light sound was muffled by the gauze and tapestry lining the walls, but still echoed through Jack, lifting his spirit. Warming his soul. Behind him, Carter was gasping for breath, struggling to control her mirth, and her efforts brought a smile to Jack's face. He scrubbed a hand over his chin and rubbed his eyes before burying his face in his hands. "Oh, for cryin' out loud."

That sent Carter into another round of chuckles, followed by a snort and sharp coughing. Instinctively, Jack jumped to his feet and turned toward her. She was leaning against the edge of the tub, thankfully only her head and shoulders in view, and coughing sharply. She held up a hand to stop him from coming closer.

"S-s-sorry," she choked out. "Swallowed some that time."

This time it was Jack who couldn't hold back the bark of laugher at her words. She turned startled eyes toward him as she realized what she'd said and then hid her own head in the arms folded along the edge of the large tub. Her muffled, "Oh, God" made Jack's smile widen.

"Carter, look at me." When she looked up, Jack leaned as close as he dared and handed her a soft towel from the pile near the edge of the tiled area. "Let's just chalk this up to . . . I dunno–"

"Temporary insanity?"

"Sure." Jack tipped his head. "You okay now?"

Carter wiped her face again and then carefully turned away from him, presumably to stretch her legs out in the steaming water. Jack watched her, trying not to focus on the tantalizing glimpse he'd caught of glistening skin stretched tight across her strong shoulders. He settled himself again in the seat near the brazier and stretched his own legs. Sipping again at his tea, he decided it wasn't half bad . . . for tea.

After a few moments of silence he asked, "How's the head?"

"Hmm?"

Carter's tone was distracted, almost drowsy now, and he wondered if he'd be forced to lift her out of that tub. "The head. The ol' noggin. The beanie. The thing that holds your prodigious brain."

"Ah . . . sorry, Colonel. Huh?"

"Carter." Looking back at her, he snapped his fingers. "Focus. Your head. Daniel said you took a helluva flight into the tomb wall when Osiris zapped you."

"Oh. Fine. It's fine. _I'm_ fine, I mean. Janet wouldn't have released me if I wasn't."

"Sorry I missed the fun, though I was glad that Hammond called me back to stay with Cass." Jack poked again at the brazier. The wood sure burned quickly in the little basin.

"Not as glad as Teal'c was." Carter muttered and then snorted something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"What was that?"

Twisting to look over her shoulder, she turned guileless blue eyes on him and answered, "Nothing, Sir. Just agreeing."

Jack kept his gave even and waited, wondering if she'd break. Very slowly he eased an eyebrow up and watched her mouth twitch in response, but she held firm. Finally, he gave up and turned back to the fire. He poked and fiddled with the logs until he was happy with the flames that shot up and lit the immediate area.

"You think Daniel's going to be okay?" She asked softly, concern for their friend coloring her tone.

"Pretty sure he was more mad than anything." Jack shrugged. "Daniel's solid. He bounces."

She didn't reply. He could almost hear her thinking and wondered which part of the past week's adventure she was focused on. The message from Hammond recalling him and Teal'c back to Colorado had been abrupt and unwelcome, but Jack was glad Teal'c had found the battery he'd tossed aside and put it back into the cell phone. He'd have hated to have Cass left alone or pushed off on Dave Reynolds' family just because he, Jack, had wanted to stay in Minnesota.

Jack didn't much like the idea that his team had gone off without him, especially to chase a suspected Goa'uld. On the other hand, he knew Carter could and would do everything possible keep them safe and he liked that Fraiser trusted him with Cass' well-being. _Well_, he amended silently, _me and Teal'c_.

Carter's voice pulled Jack from his thoughts. "I forgot to ask. How was Cass? I didn't get a chance to see her after we got back."

"Okay." Jack shrugged and, setting his coffee aside, leaned back onto his elbows. "Stayed at Fraiser's place for the first two days 'cause of school. Then ended up at my place. Teal'c insisted on Mr. Ho's Donuts every morning, so we had to eat that."

"Teal'c _insisted_, did he? And, of course, you and Cassie hated that, right?"

"Major, are you _doubting_ me?"

"Oh no, Colonel. Of course not." This time it didn't appear that she made any effort to disguise her soft snort of laughter.

Jack risked a glance over his shoulder. "A little respect, please."

Carter turned toward him, her face lit by the burnished orange glow of the fire in the copper brazier. Her voice, however, was laced with humor and the tenor of it warmed Jack more than any fire could. "Sir, yes Sir," she said with a dip of her head, her light tone matching his.

Sitting up to take another drink of his coffee, Jack nodded. "Better."

"I'm glad the General was able to get you back."

"Cassie's family, part of SG-1. No one gets left behind." That was one unequivocal rule that Jack would not bend. He knew it, she knew it, the team knew it. Family was family, and SG-1 was a hell of a lot more than that.

Carter met and held his gaze and nodded, then said, quietly. "I'm getting out."

Jack hastily turned back to the fire and his tea, reaching to pour more in to warm what was already there. He mentally tracked her movements behind him, heard the careful step as first one foot, then another came to rest on the tile. Then the sounds of cloth on skin, followed by . . . tipping his head, Jack tried to identify the next sound. Then suddenly she was there, beside him. Wrapped from head to toe in the softest wraplike, robelike thing he'd ever seen. Scrambling for something to say and very aware of the absolute inappropriateness of his presence in his Second's room—not that any part of the last hour or so had been any better—Jack finally muttered, "Comfy?"

"Relaxed." She sent him a soft smile.

"Good."

Carter tucked herself into the chair adjacent to his and curled her feet up and under the edges of the fuzzy draped fabric she was wearing. She sipped her tea and smiled over at him, her face flushed from the warmth of the hot tub. "Thanks for staying, Sir. I appreciate it."

Jack looked over at her and let himself enjoy this moment. This quiet, on-the-edge-of-innocent moment with her. Steam from the draining tub still blanketed the room in sweet and spicy scents, drifting through the room on the gentle currents of warm air that lifted the gauzy window drapes from time to time. The last of the evening's sunlight had faded, leaving the night an inky darkness framed by the window. Outside, a night bird blew a mournful call, echoed higher in the hills by another. Other night sounds came in, accompanied by the quiet crackle and snap of the wood burning before them.

Allowing a little of what he felt for her to sneak past the ever-present walls he'd built for his safety—and for hers—Jack held her gaze and reaffirmed, "_No one_ left behind."

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): This is the first thing I've written post-back surgery that simply flew off of my fingertips. I had the second half written first and then last night was puzzling over bits of it (while in my own hot tub) and . . . wham. There it was. I wrote the first half, changed the second half to reflect being in a hot tub and the words flew. I've missed that feeling and it's nice to have it back.


	15. Relationships, Fuzzy or Otherwise

A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky, brilliant beta work and a great, great friend.

Set after _The Serpent's Venom_ on a planet of my own making. This story just barely references the episode, but I'll include the synopsis just because. Episode synopsis: SG-1 must stop Apophis and Heru-ur from forming an alliance of their powerful forces, while Teal'c is captured and tortured by the Goa'uld.

~ o0o ~

_Relationships, Fuzzy or Otherwise_

~ o0o ~

SGC  
1454 SGC Local 

Jack strode purposefully through the hallway, hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his trousers. As was his wont on base, his uniform shirt was untucked, trouser legs unbloused. He figured he had another 45 minutes before he had to head into the locker room to gear up. He'd just given Daniel the heads-up reminder and now it was Carter's turn.

Nodding to the two MP's patrolling the hallway, Jack made the final turn down the hallway leading to Carter's lab. He could see that her door was ajar, so he had a good chance of getting in and out without crisping anything important. Just to be safe, however, he slowed as he neared the door. Experience was a fine teacher, and it paid to approach Carter's lab with caution. He could hear her talking within, and as he moved closer her words brought him to an abrupt halt.

" . . . no, really, I prefer it. Yes."

Her gentle chuckle warmed him, as it always did. And, as he usually did, he sternly told the warm fuzzies to take a hike. Placing his hand on the door, he froze again at her next sentence.

"I really think rough sex is more appropriate here. Yes. Well, what's your insertion point? And she's stuck? What's the setting?" She paused, then added quietly, "Oh, yeah. That'd do it. I've never set it past eight."

Jack's draw dropped and he carefully pulled his hand from the door. No way. There's no way he heard what he heard. Nope. Shaking his head, he steeled himself to walk in and stopped again.

" . . . I'm of the dominance school of thought. I think we can– what? Are they fuzzy? What are– oh, this is stupid, I'm heading up there. It's easier if I show you. Tell Joanna to get the beds ready."

Taking a deep breath, Jack pushed open the door. _Dominance? Fuzzy? Fuzzy . . . what? BEDS? Joanna? _Before he could speak, Carter looked up from her notes, absently hanging up the phone as she greeted him.

"Sir?" She stood and turned to him. "Did you need something?"

Still trying to sort through what he'd overheard, Jack shook his head. "No, ah . . . wait. Yes. I'm not . . . interrupting anything, am I?"

Carter shook her head as she moved around the large lab table. "No. Actually, I'm going to head up to Fifteen and help out a friend."

_Is that what they're calling it these days?_ "Oh, fine. Great." _Nice, O'Neill, sound a bit more idiotic. _Jack's mind was working frantically, trying to remember just who was assigned to Level Fifteen.

As Carter brushed past him, Jack's brain reengaged. "We gear up in 45 minutes."

Carter glanced at her watch and back at him. "That should be enough time." She edged toward the door, angling her body to guide him out as well. "So, Sir. If you don't mind . . ."

"Huh?" Jack hastily stepped outside and watched her lock the door. "Oh, sure. Fine. Don't let me keep you from . . . you know. Whatever."

"See you in 45, Colonel." Carter strode quickly down the hall and out of sight, leaving an utterly dumfounded Jack standing outside of her locked lab door.

~ o0o ~

P2K-524  
0105 SGCS  
Sunset +9 Local  
6.7 Km SW of Stargate

Jack shifted again on the log he was using as a seat and tried to settle down. Try as he might, this afternoon's overheard conversation in Carter's office wouldn't leave him. He was _sure_ he'd heard her correctly, and even more certain after she met the team in the locker room. She'd arrived in high color, her cheeks flushed and eyes dancing. Though he'd worked very hard to suppress those memories, Jack had vivid images of Carter—of Thera, really—looking just that same way after they'd spent time in the little alcove he'd made for them.

Though, he reflected, never once in their time together had she ever indicated that she was into anything but . . . well, not whatever it was he'd overheard. Again, not that he tried to dwell on their time there, but what he _did_ remember, when he allowed himself to remember, was slow, sweet, and tender loving. _He'd_ enjoyed it, but now he wondered if perhaps Carter had though him too . . . tame. Too old.

Shaking his head, Jack rose and made a quiet circuit around their campsite. They were high on a flat-top plateau, with a nearly three-hundred and sixty-degree view of the surrounding landscape. It was a clear and cloudless night with little breeze to speak of. The fire Teal'c had built earlier was down to mere embers now, not that they'd needed it for light or warmth. The bright moon loomed low overhead and provided enough light that Daniel had read until it was time to turn in. That silvery luminosity allowed Jack to see the entire campsite and he found his eyes once again sliding to the tent he shared with Carter.

He knew he needed to refocus, even Daniel had commented on Jack's inattention twice since they'd arrived. The second time had drawn Carter's attention, and Jack had snapped at both of them before switching to take point from Teal'c. Neither scientist had spoken to Jack unless directly addressed since then.

As Jack settled back on the log, the overheard conversation looped through his brain again.

"_I prefer it." _

"_I really think rough sex . . ."_

"_Well, what's your insertion point?"_

"_I've never set it past eight."_

"_I'm of the dominance school of thought."_

"_Are they fuzzy?"_

"_Tell Joanna . . ."_

"_I prefer . . ."_

"Colonel?"

Jack bit back a startled oath and looked up to find Carter standing beside him. Even in the silvery light of the moon he could see the flush on her features at his reaction. He silently cursed his inattention and slid aside, making room for her on his log.

"Are you okay?"

"Hm? 'Course I am, Carter."

"Oh." Carter shifted beside him, then poked at the embers glowing in the firepit. She didn't stoke the flames alight, just moved them enough to begin warming the small pot she set on the nearby rocks. She didn't meet his gaze as she spoke. "It's just . . . well, you've been a bit . . . off today, and–"

"We all have off days, Carter." He felt her stiffen at his tone and mentally kicked himself. This was nuts. This was Carter. _His_ Carter. He could ask her anything. Glancing back at the tent in which Teal'c and Daniel slept, Jack turned back to her. He kept his voice low as he began. "Okay, look."

She turned to face him, and Jack stopped. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out a way to begin this conversation. At a loss, he pulled the stick from her hand and poked dispiritedly at the embers, sending sparks swirling up into the starry sky.

Beside him, Carter didn't say a word. It was one of the things Jack loved about their relationship, their friendship. Neither felt the need to fill the silence with chatter, though in this case he wouldn't have minded _some_ small talk.

As if she'd read his mind, Carter asked softly, "What's going on, Sir?"

"Nothing. Really. I, ah . . . hell." Jack took the mug she offered and sipped once. He tried another tack. "Did you get your, ah, problem sorted out this afternoon?"

Carter tipped her head as she sipped her drink. "My prob– oh, you mean the relationships stuff?"

Jack just stared at her. "Relationship . . . stuff?"

"Yeah." Carter set her mug aside, gesturing in her enthusiasm. "We were trying to work out dominance, and what goes where."

"Figured that out, did you?"

"Oh yeah. It's easier with more people."

Jack choked on his drink and gave up. "For cryin' out loud, Carter, what the hell is going on up on Fifteen?"

"First we had to–what? What do you mean?"

"Carter . . . rough sex? Dominance? Insertions? Fuzzy things? _What_, may I ask, was fuzzy? Who is _Joanna,_ and . . . _really_? And what the hell happens after _eight_!" Jack kept his voice low so as not to wake the others, but his harsh whisper carried across the fire into the darkness.

"Um . . . nine?" Her blue eyes, washed nearly translucent in the silver gilt moonlight, were opened wide and unblinking as she stared at him in shock.

Jack watched her struggle for control until she snapped her jaw closed and then silently turned away, her shoulders shaking.

_Jack O'Neill, you are the world's biggest _ass_! _Even a kabillion light-years away from home, his mother's voice could ring in his ears. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Jack took a deep breath, then another, then reached out to lay a hand on his Second's shuddering shoulder.

"Look, Carter, I . . . I'm sorry." Still turned from him, her shaking increased. "C'mon, Sam. Please. I _hate_ it when you cry." Giving her shoulder a small tug, he pulled her around to face him. When she looked up, he saw the tracks of her tears lacing her cheeks. "Damn, I'm sor– Wait. You're not crying, you're . . . _laughing_."

Gasping out a breath, Carter laid a hand on his arm. She gave it a squeeze and bit her lip. "Colonel," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help–" And she dissolved into another set of nearly silent giggles, only the occasional muffled snort barely hidden by her hands gave her away.

Jack scowled at her and leaned back. "Fine," he grumbled, waving a hand at her. "Get it out. Whatever. Don't mind me."

Immediately Carter began to struggle to control herself. She took several deep breaths and kept her eyes away from him after the first glance at his face sent her back into the giggles. She picked up her drink again and took several calming swallows before trying again. "S-so, um, what was it you, ah . . ." The giggle slipped out and she quickly looked away.

"Oh, for . . ." Jack grumbled slightly, but couldn't fight the smile tugging at his own lips. Her infectious laughter was irresistible to him. "Okay, I _obviously_ heard something wrong today."

"Obviously," she retorted, snorting into her drink.

"Careful, you'll suck tea up your nose." Jack sat back and crossed his arms. "Why don't you tell me what you _actually_ said to . . ." He waved a hand in invitation.

"Dr. Marcus Crawford."

"Of . . ."

"NORAD. NORAD CSD to be precise." When he just stared at her she added, "Computer Sciences Division."

"I see." He really didn't. "And the, ah, rough . . . whatever . . . with, ah, him and . . . Joanna . . .?"

She couldn't quite contain the gigglesnort that came out. Jack found himself smiling too, just because.

"Joanna is Dr. Joanna Delacourt, another computer scientist for NORAD. She was at the SGC for a while, so I got to know her then." Carter met his gaze this time and said, "And it was not rough _sex_, you heard me say, Sir, but rough _sets_."

Jack just raised an eyebrow. Honestly rough sets didn't mean that much more to him.

"We were working through some logic issues in their subroutines. It's a form of fuzzy math, really, related to _set_ theory." Carter paused and caught his eye. "That's s-e-t theory, Sir," she spelled out for him with an almost wicked smile.

Jack shot her a look and raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell is it called 'fuzzy' math? What's fuzzy about it?"

She turned to him, her eyebrows raised. "You don't _really_ want me to get into that, do you? Can you just take it on faith that it's fuzzy?"

"Sure." Jack paused. "Wait, is there a non-fuzzy math?"

"Yes. We work with fuzzy sets and crisp sets."

"Of course." He waved a hand. "Sorry, go on."

"Anyway," she continued, settling in beside him. "Joanna was stuck and needed some help. I tried answering on the phone, but, well, sometimes these things are easier to do in person. You know."

Nodding solemnly, Jack agreed. "I do."

He poked the embers of the fire with his boot and blew out a breath. Beside him he could feel Carter's occasionally shift as she relaxed against the tree behind them, her shoulder bumping his. She still appeared to be struggling with her giggles as the occasional chuckle would slip past her lips.

"It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Sir."

"Well, you have to admit, it sounded really . . ."

"Scientific?"

"I was gonna go with . . . intriguing."

Carter snorted again and this time Jack chuckled along with her. When she settled down again, she turned to face him. "Was that what was bothering you today?"

Unable to hold her gaze, Jack nodded.

"You could have just asked, you know."

"Didn't want to. Not in front of the guys."

"Oh." Carter turned back to the fire. "Probably a good idea. I can't imagine explaining rough . . . anything to Teal'c."

"I'd leave that to Daniel."

"Good idea." Carter yawned and stood, reaching to take his mug as she stepped away from the fire. "I'm going to do a circuit, are you off to bed, Sir?"

"In a minute."

"'Kay." She stayed where she was and waited until he met her gaze. "You should get some sleep, Colonel. We don't want you . . . fuzzy-headed in the morning."

"Very funny, Carter."

"I thought so."

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): I know it's really Sam's turn for a story, but this was what came to mind. Never fight the muse.


	16. Jack's Valley

A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky, for brilliant beta work and being a great, great friend.

Set after _Chain Reaction_ on a planet of my own making. Doesn't relate much at all to the episode, but I'll add the synopsis anyway. Episode synopsis: _When SGC commander General Hammond steps down saying he's "too old for the job," SG-1 immediately suspects foul play. And when a hard-nosed new general steps in to replace him and splits up SG-1, they vow to solve the mystery and get General Hammond back at the helm._

~ o0o ~

_Jack's Valley_

~ o0o ~

P7C-105  
0405 SGCS  
Sunset +4 Local  
15.5 Km SW of Stargate 

Sam walked the perimeter of the campsite a final time before heading back toward the tents. She navigated between them, keeping her eyes away from the fires to preserve her night vision until she got past the often-treacherous poles. A low rumble of voices coming from one of the tents caught her attention and she paused. She didn't really want to eavesdrop on private conversations, but she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to get a feeling for how the trainees were doing.

"_. . . feet are so freakin' sore." _

Sam recognized the voice of Tom Jennings, a Lieutenant who'd come highly recommended by a friend of hers at Beale Air Force Base. A second voice answered Jennings' and Sam bit back a small smile at the next speaker's words.

"_Told you to pack those other socks. You've gotta start listening to the stories in the mess."_

"_Shaddup, Kaz." Jennings' direction was spoken easily, with no bite to the tone. "The only stories I've heard in the mess is that you're hung up on that studly Captain on . . . what was it, SG-11?"_

"_Bite me, Tommy-boy. At least I _have_ a love life. Besides, _I've_ heard that you're pining after Major Ca– Hey! Jesus, Jennings, keep your nasty socks on your side, I was just yankin' your chain."_

Kelly Kazlowicz's response was biting and this time Sam's grin slipped free. _Good for you_, she thought, even if the Lieutenant had been goading her teammate using her own name. Lieutenant Kazlowicz was another of Bill Scott's recommendations from Beale, a promising young officer who could clearly hold her own. Sam continued to walk through the tents, quietly easing between the structures, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that she would need to focus on, to fix herself, or to bring to O'Neill's attention.

The snatches of conversations she heard mirrored the first, tent mates muttering, complaining, sharing memories of the week's training. Nothing that she hadn't expected. Or experienced herself countless times. Sam heard a rustling behind her and turned, unsurprised to find herself nearly nose-to-nose with her CO.

"Doing a little snooping, Carter?" O'Neill's low whisper was almost inaudible in the darkness.

Sam tipped her head back and found his eyes, barely illuminated by the reflected light of the nearby campfires. "No more than you are, Sir," she whispered back.

She didn't resist when O'Neill pulled her deeper into the shadows, toward the last group of tents. "I was just about to head to these," she whispered.

"Good, let's not eavesdrop together, then."

They moved silently between the bunched tents, Sam easily falling into the pattern of stepping immediately into the footprint O'Neill vacated. Years of practice had them moving as one, silent shadows in a darkening night.

As they approached the last grouping of tents, O'Neill slowed, glancing once back to Sam. He slipped in and out of the shadows to rest against a tree. Sam felt a tug on her sleeve as he pulled her near. It was too dark to see him, so she leaned in and whispered, "Sir?"

"Atherton and Mason are in the tent nearest us," he gestured and then pointed out the rest in sequence. "Masterson and Chambers, Winski and Moran, Tran and . . .what's-his-name."

"Kurtis," Sam supplied.

"Right. I always forget him for some reason."

"They all seem to be in Atherton and Mason's tent."

"Yeah. 'S why we're here."

Sam settled herself against the tree her Colonel picked out, enjoying the quiet of the night. Enjoying the activity she was sharing with O'Neill. He'd picked a place where they could easily hear the chatter in the tent, and she idly wondered how all eight officers managed to fit in the small tent.

"_What time do Tran and Kurtis get off duty?"_

"_Dunno. Teal'c will probably make them run a mile or something when they're done. The guy's sadistic."_

Sam felt O'Neill's silent chuckle vibrate against her arm.

"_Not sure who's worse, the Jaffa or O'Neill. Sheesh, the old man's been around since rocks were hot and he ran me ragged today."_

O'Neill's breath whispered across her cheek. "'Old man?' What's he talkin' about, Carter, Hammond's back on–"

"Shh." Without thinking she laid a finger over his lips as the conversation inside continued.

"_Well, he is over a hundred and–"_

"_Not Teal'c, ya knob. O'Neill. He's gotta be...what, 50?"_

"_Careful Wit, I'm sure the old man can hear you from here."_

"_Yeah," a new voice chimed in, deeper than the others. "Guy's got ears like a bat."_

"_And he can outrun our track star here."_

"_C'mon, Paul. It wasn't _that_ bad."_

Sam could picture Terry Moran's face as she teased Winski. The young Captain Moran was tiny, but had more energy than ten, it seemed. She couldn't be much taller than Janet, yet she'd run the guys and other women ragged on the Assault Course that afternoon.

Suddenly, she became aware of the warm lips still pursed beneath her silencing finger. Slowly, she turned her head to find O'Neill's eyes on hers, dark and glittering in the moonlight. The lips slid along her finger and she snatched her hand away as if branded.

The Colonel leaned close and said in a strangled whisper, "Just when did _I_ become the _old man_?"

"Well, to them, you're, ah . . . old . . . _er. _Thus that makes you, ah . . ."

"Yes?" O'Neill's dry question carried a whisper of humor.

"Never mind."

"And, 'ears like a _bat'_?" He touched his ear and then nudged her again. "How come you never told me?"

Surreptitiously rubbing her thumb along her still tingling index finger, Sam smothered a chuckle and pulled O'Neill's hand down and away from his ear. "Shh. Your ears are just fine. Sir. They, um . . . go nicely with your nose." She felt his whole body shake as he tried not to laugh.

"Touché, Carter." Beside her O'Neill shifted and leaned close. "How 'bout that Moran on the A Course today? She lit it up."

Trying not to shiver at the feeling of his breath across her ear, Sam simply nodded, despite it being too dark for him to see. She didn't quite trust her voice to remain steady at the moment. Forcing herself to focus, she tuned back in to the conversation in the tent as the newest members of the SGC relived their experiences on the Assault Course she and O'Neill had devised.

" _. . . –inds me of the Academy, you know?"_

"_Jack's Valley?"_

"_Yeah."_

A round of pained but heartfelt chuckles chorused quietly into the night. Atherton's comment sparked a number of "when I was a cadet" stories, and it seemed that each officer was determined to outdo the other with tales of woe from their Beast summer at the Academy.

O'Neill lifted himself from his position against the tree and reached out a hand. Sam unthinkingly slipped her fingers into his and allowed him to pull her away from the tent, into the darkness. His hand was warm and dry around hers, the calluses hard but smooth against her own. She loved the way her hand felt in his, loved how, despite the size of her own, his encompassed hers. Holding it securely as he navigated the tent lines. She knew she needed to pull her hand back; she certainly didn't need to be led like a child through the site, but still . . . she savored the contact.

All too soon, O'Neill seemed to realize he was still in possession of her hand and he quickly dropped it, with a barely felt squeeze just before he did so.

As they neared the crackling fire, Daniel looked up. "What's up?"

Sam shot him a smile as she sat opposite him. "Nothing, why?"

Daniel's gaze flicked from her to O'Neill and back again. He stared at her for a long moment, until O'Neill pulled his attention away.

"Something on your mind, Daniel?"

"Hmm? No. Sorry." He scratched his head and bent again over his notebook.

"Sure? You've got that 'I've got a deep thought' look goin' on."

Daniel merely shook his head, his thoughts clearly elsewhere already.

Using her field gloves, Sam pulled the hot water pot off of the fire and poured some into her mug. She lifted the pot in O'Neill's direction and then put it down when he shook his head.

"These newest members of the SGC are performing well, O'Neill."

"You're good with them, T?" O'Neill stared across the fire at Teal'c. He glanced at Sam and raised an eyebrow and she nodded in return, agreeing with Teal'c's assessment.

"Indeed. I could not find serious fault with any regarding tactical decision-making. Nothing that cannot be addressed in future training."

Sam leaned back and exchanged another glance with O'Neill. "Wow, Teal'c. That's . . . I can't remember you being so . . ." She trailed off.

"Enthusiastic?" O'Neill offered dryly.

Biting back a smile, Sam nodded. "Sure. I mean, no offense, Teal'c, but–"

Teal'c nodded solemnly to Sam, acknowledging her comment. "I take no offense, Major Carter. I am well pleased with the caliber that we have been offered . . . this time. It seems as if recent events have caused others to . . . reevaluate their priorities."

"Huh." Daniel poked his head up from his notebook. "I wonder . . ."

"What?"

"Well," scratching his head, Daniel took off his glasses and cleaned them. "Sam really impressed Bauer, you know?" He glanced around, referring to the recent, and thankfully short-lived, change in SGC commanders.

Sam ducked her head. "I wouldn't say that, Daniel."

"I would." O'Neill's quiet comment cut through Sam's protest. "Took him down a peg or too, Carter, from what I hear."

"A well-deserved reminder of his failings," echoed Teal'c.

"C'mon, guys. It wasn't like that." Sam shook her head. "It could so easily have gone very wrong."

"But it didn't Sam. And I think Bauer saw what we have at the SGC and what we could be. I wonder if he hasn't, I dunno . . . pushed for better transfers."

The team was silent for while, each alone with their thoughts. Sam nudged a log deeper into the fire with a boot and pondered Daniel's words. She could see the logic in what he was saying, Bauer had made a point of stopping by her lab before he left the base. He'd apologized, again, for not listening and commended her for her work. Still, she couldn't bring herself to believe that the SGC was suddenly getting good recruits because one general decided that suddenly the SGC was legit.

Daniel looked up suddenly, his expression curious. "Hey, I just remembered. Two of the newbies this afternoon kept referring to the, um, shooting gallery–"

"Assault Course, Daniel. 'Shooting gallery' makes it sound like a carnival game."

Rolling his eyes at Sam, Daniel conceded, "_Assault_ _course_, then. Sorry. Anyway, they said something about it being like 'Jack's Valley'?"

Before either officer could answer, two young Captains neared the fire. The smaller of the two, a round-faced young man, stopped just at the edge of the firelight and snapped off a salute, directing his attention to Teal'c. "Sir, we have completed our final checks for the evening. Was there anything else you require?"

Teal'c acknowledged the salute with a nod of his head. "No, thank you Captain Kurtis. You may retire. Please remind the others of their watch rotations."

"Yes, Sir." Kurtis nodded to SG-1, snapped off another salute, and walked away, the other officer at his side.

As they walked back to their tent, Tran's voice carried back to them. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm gonna miss Jack's Valley."

Kurtis' chuckle was nearly lost to the darkness as they entered their tent. "Sure is better the second time around."

Daniel nodded and gestured toward the far end of camp. "See? I can't believe you're letting them get away with that?"

O'Neill shook his head. "First I've heard of it."

Sam shot him a look, well aware that they'd both overheard it just a short time ago. O'Neill's carefully bland expression made her change her response to Daniel's original question. "Daniel, 'Jack's Valley' is a place on earth. It's the field-training site for cadets at the Academy. They march out there, I think it's about six miles?"

O'Neill nodded, poking idly at the fire with a blackened stick. "'Bout that."

"The second half of Beast is spent in Jack's Valley doing . . . well, pretty much what we're doing here, though with no trip through the gate, Zats, staff weapons or . . ."

"Jaffa." O'Neill quirked a small smile at Teal'c.

"Indeed." Teal'c frowned. "Major Carter, to what Beast do you refer?"

"Sorry, Teal'c." Sam grinned. "It's called 'Beast' because it's really an awful two weeks. Dirt. Lots and lots of dirt. And mud. It rained during my time there. As a Basic, I mean. Cadré wasn't so bad."

Daniel scratched his head and then shrugged as he rose, closing his notebook. "Well, you've lost me, but at least I get the 'Jack's Valley' reference. 'Night."

Teal'c, too, rose. "I shall bid you good night as well, O'Neill, Major Carter." He offered a short bow. "Major Carter, perhaps tomorrow we may speak more of this 'Beast'? I am reminded of my own Sekh'ak-Ne Ka'Vir."

Sam blinked at the completely new term and just nodded. "Sure, Teal'c. Absolutely."

"'Night, T." O'Neill stabbed again at the fire as the Jaffa was quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

Idly watching the sparks swirl up into the night sky, Sam leaned back on her elbows and tipped her head back to study the night sky. Her last night in Jack's had been a lot like this, she realized. At least her last night as Cadré, a First-year cadet responsible for training the Basics, the newest class to enter the Academy. Clear and cool at night, mountains looming jagged and somewhat ominously on the horizon, their silhouettes softened by the trees that surrounded the valley and framed the sparkling starlight. How much had changed since she'd leaned back in that valley, gazing up at the stars and wondering when she'd fly among them? How much had _she_ changed?

O'Neill's low voice pulled her from her thoughts. "I'll bet you killed it at Jack's."

Sam shrugged, her eyes still on the view above. "Not really. I mean, I held my own. I came back as Cadré and that was certainly better. There were plenty who were faster and stronger than me when I was a Basic, though."

"And where are they now?"

Sam cocked her head at him and smiled. "Um . . . hmm. Of my class? I think only Keller has been through the gate. Oh, and Monchara is in the labs, she was in my year. But . . . yeah."

"Not so sure I'm crazy about them calling this place 'Jack's Valley,' though. I got the impression it wasn't just about this experience being like the real one back on Earth."

"No, I'm sure it has more to do with you," she said softly.

"Carter." His voice was low, deeper somehow than normal.

Sam sat up and met O'Neill's gaze. "C'mon, Sir. They may not use it, but they know your name. It's . . . I don't know. A compliment."

"Still not sure I like it."

Sam was silent for a long moment, letting the heat of the small fire warm her feet as her thoughts wandered. Finally, she blew out a soft breath.

"What?"

Sam shifted, considering her next words. She knew that despite his appearing casually disrespectful of the system, and most especially, "the man," Jack O'Neill was an officer who respected hard work and well-earned accomplishment. Very few officers, in fact, she could think of only one person living now, who worked with the Colonel at the SGC called him by his first name. And General Hammond only did so very rarely.

Daniel didn't count, for the most part military grade meant nothing to him. He only referred to Hammond by his grade, everybody else was by name. He called the Colonel by name because he _could_. She hadn't really thought about it, but O'Neill must not mind. Or had simply given up. Even Teal'c offered the Colonel the respect of a fellow warrior, his form of address almost an accolade of its own.

To everyone else, O'Neill was _Colonel_ O'Neill. Even to her. _Especially_ to her. Save for a few times, very special times, before Jonah and Thera. And once after. But not since.

So she could see why he'd be uncomfortable with the appellation "Jack's Valley" being given to any SGC training site if in relation to him. Aside from it being a recognition he might not want, he might feel it disrespectful. She shrugged again, crossing her legs at the ankles to warm the other foot. "You could order them to stop, but I'm not sure that'll help much, Sir. Besides, they're not calling _this_ place Jack's Valley, they're calling the _training_ that." O'Neill just lifted an eyebrow, so she explained. "It's not the first time _I've_ heard the term applied to our off-site training. The last group did it too. About a month ago I overheard Lieutenant Kazlowicz asking Muller if she knew 'where Jack's Valley was going to be' this year."

With a little grunt, O'Neill shifted in his seat. "So, it won't matter where we do this." It was more of a statement than a question, as if he were resigned to the idea.

Sam shook her head. "Nope. I'm pretty sure that any place we use as a training site will become 'Jack's Valley.'" She tipped her head. "It's not really that bad, is it? Just like we did at the Academy, when you come through it, you look back and think, 'damn, that was hard as hell, but I did it.'" She settled back on her elbows and returned her gaze to the stars before adding quietly, "I think they like knowing they made it through the Jack _O'Neill_ version of Jack's Valley."

O'Neill scowled at that, but Sam knew he wasn't directing his discomfort at her, just at the idea. "C'mon, cut it out." His words were a quiet plea as he shook his head.

Sam sat up again and leaned her elbows on her knees. She reached out and pulled the charred stick from his hand, stilling his agitated stabbing at the embers. "Sir." She waited until he turned and met her gaze. She smiled gently, well aware of how uncomfortable he was with any hint of hero-worship from younger officers. "It really _is_ a compliment, you know. Is it so hard to believe that they . . . that _we_," she amended, including herself in the accounting, "are proud to serve with you?"

Again O'Neill shifted, but he kept his eyes on hers. "I'm just doin' my job, Carter, same as everyone else."

She nodded. "I know." She handed him back his stick, but kept her hand on it as well, keeping that connection with him. "But . . . it makes the doing better if you know that the person you're doing that job for . . . or with . . . is at least as good as you are, if not better."

Now he actually squirmed and Sam let him pull the stick from her grasp. She stood and dusted her hands off, then leaned down to brush off her trousers as well. Her head bent close to his, she murmured, "Face it, Colonel. You're good at what you do, and deep down, you're basically . . . _good_, no matter what you try to tell me. And that makes us . . . that makes _me_ . . . want to be better. Better officers, better people. If the newbies want to compliment you by calling our training 'Jack's Valley,' I am not going to be the one to tell them not to."

She stood and turned to head into their tent, only to stop at O'Neill's soft, "Sam." Turning back, she waited for him to speak.

O'Neill rose and stepped away from the fire, moving into her space, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Very quietly, he said, "I'm not . . . it's not the name, so much as the idea that they're somehow tying it to _me_, you know? I'm just–"

"Just Jack O'Neill. I know." Skirting the edge of the boundaries they'd both established, she reached out to touch his hand. "And this," she waved at the small encampment behind them, "is just Jack's Valley. It's a coincidence of names that the teams have taken advantage of. That's it, no more."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Neither are you." She tipped her head and met his gaze. They stood together, frozen for several long minutes while she studied him. Finally, giving his hand a soft squeeze, she smiled gently and turned away, leaving her Colonel standing silently in the dark, outlined against the glowing embers of a safely banked fire.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Extra chocolate-chip cookies if you found the _very_ small Sound of Music reference.

AN#2: I've been struggling with this Campfire, but it was this review of a recent story that pushed me to finish: "From: Guest: Must. Have. More. Campfires! Pol, pleeeeeeaaaaassssseeee! :-)." It made me smile, so thank you (it was anonymous, so I couldn't respond in any other way.


	17. A Wrinkle in Time

A/N: Thank again (as always) to Leiasky for the great beta and the tightening up. Brilliant as always.

Set after _2010_, on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _A decade in the future, Earth's alliance with a highly intelligent race of aliens has rendered SGC obsolete. But when Carter, now married to a human ambassador to the aliens, uncovers a terrifying secret about these "benevolent" beings, she must reassemble SG-1 to send an urgent message to the past._

~ o0o~

_A Wrinkle in Time_

~ o0o~

P7A-604  
27 km SW of Stargate  
Three hours before planetary sunset  
21:50 SGC time

Jack O'Neill checked along the shoreline, wondering where the locals were planning on beaching this craft. He glanced back along the line of little boats following in a ragged line behind him. Carter was avidly studying the small device she held in her hands, her attention on her work and letting the man paddling her boat do his job. In contrast, Daniel was trying to chat with the barely-out-of-his-teens young man who propelled his own craft. Far back, reminding Jack of a stoic buddha or a king of times past, Teal'c sat perched quietly at the back of the last boat. Jack knew that the boats were all the same size, but he couldn't get over how small Teal'c made the wooden boat look.

As the boats rounded a bend in the river, Jack watched as his oarsman steered the boat to the wide sandy beach that served as the height of the bend. The lush vegetation had been pushed back, either by seasonal wash-outs or natives, leaving a wide, inviting stretch of smooth sand for beaching the boats.

As they neared the shore, Jack tensed, watching the swarm of natives rush to pull the boats in and up onto the beach. As quickly as possible, he jumped out on the side nearest to where Carter was doing the same from her boat. He was pleased to see that she'd put away her gadget and was attentively watching the men and women of the village as they moved in and around their boats.

"Daniel!" Jack's summons brought not only the archaeologist, but a gaggle of chattering teens and young men.

Daniel waved his entourage to silence and approached Jack and Carter. "Jack, Enolu says that the place we're looking for is one full 'sun-cycle' from the village."

"And that means . . .?"

"One day, Colonel."

"Sam's got it." Daniel flashed Jack's Second a bright smile. "Enolu says it's too late to start for the site today and that tonight there is some sort of celebration for the village. Well, for Enolu, really. He has come of age this moon-cycle." Daniel's blue eyes were alight, probably at the prospect of watching the event unfold.

"Mazeltov," Jack muttered. He blew out a breath. Their mission schedule was tight, tighter than he liked. The extra day's ride downriver hadn't helped at all, and he still wasn't convinced that the power source Carter had identified was worth this kind of effort. Still . . . anything to fight the snake-heads.

He pulled Daniel aside. "Daniel, I know you want to stay, but we're really pressed for time. I absolutely _have_ to be back in time for the Senate hearing. Hammond's pretty much said that the Program's funding is going to be pulled or severely cut unless we can justifiy–"

"I know, Jack. But . . . well, I get the feeling that now that we know about it, if we don't stay, we'll insult someone."

Pulling off his cap, Jack scrubbed his fingers through his hair. "Somehow, I just _knew_ you were going to say that."

"O'Neill. Perhaps we should divide our resources. I will accompany Major Carter to the site, we can make good time together. You could–"

"No, Teal'c. If anyone's going to go traipsing off through the woods with Carter, it's gonna be me." The words were out of Jack's mouth before he thought them completely through. Behind him he heard Carter's strangled cough, while Daniel's eyes widened so much that Jack was afraid they'd simply fall out. Teal'c, of course, reacted as emotionally as he always did; one eyebrow slid upward and his lips twitched . . . just a little bit.

"Ah, I meant . . . oh, for . . . You know what I meant. T, you're here with Daniel, and I'm going out with . . . I mean, I'm going to follow Carter."

Stepping back to allow Carter to take the lead, Jack shot a withering look at Daniel as the younger man's snicker reached his ears.

~ o0o ~

"This ought to do it, Sir." Carter brushed off her hands before leaning back onto her heels. The fire she'd lit was slowly working its way through the lincoln-log stack she'd built, the light growing brighter and chasing the creeping evening gloom back into the trees.

Jack grunted in response and took a seat by the fire. "Latrines are that-a-way, fresh water over there." He gestured with his chin as he fumbled in his pack.

"Got it."

The two worked in companionable silence, each pulling out their meals and settling in for dinner. Absently, Jack pulled out the container he used to pack their after-dinner coffee and tea. As he did so, a small slip of paper fluttered to the ground, unnoticed.

"What's this?" Carter picked up the small scrap and blew on it to clear the dirt off. "How'd you get this?"

"Hm? Oh, Fraiser gave it to me after she'd run her DNA analysis."

Carter said nothing as she studied the sheet, turning it over and over in her hands. The crumpled and worn slip was spattered with dark brown stains they now knew was O'Neill's blood. Bending closer, She tipped the paper toward the fire and squinted closely at it.

"What?"

"Hm?" Carter's distracted hum was her only response.

Jack nudged her knee with a steaming mug, pulling her attention away from the paper and back to him. "What's so fascinating?"

Leaning back, she carefully refolded the slip of paper and handed it back to him in exchange for her steaming mug. Taking a tentative sip, she smiled at the flavor and met his eyes over the rim. "Did Janet test all the blood on it?"

O'Neill nodded as he stirred his MRE, making sure the water got to all the dried bits of food.

"What about the fingerprint?"

"Yup, that too." He waited, knowing she'd ask, though somehow pleased when she didn't and just raised an eyebrow in question. "Not mine."

Carter snorted as she, too, stirred her meal before sealing the packet closed and letting the hot water do its trick. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Okay, I'll bite. Whose fingerprint was it?"

"Yours."

Her eyebrows rose and she held out her hand expectantly. Jack pulled out the small scrap and handed it to her, watching as she renewed her scrutiny of the note. In the bottom right-hand corner was a small, badly smudged partial fingerprint. She frowned and tilted her right hand toward the fire, then carefully slid her thumb into place, checking and rechecking the pattern on the paper against her own thumb's whorls and patterns. After a long, silent minute she held the paper up again and, with a quick, almost imperceptible shudder, folded it up again and gave it back.

Jack watched her silently as he dug into his meal, letting her wrestle with whatever deep thoughts seemed to be tumbling around in her head. The fire spit and crackled, chasing shadows into the trees and providing welcome warmth against the growing dampness of the night. Still his Second remained silent, her face a study in concentration. When she shuddered a second time, he shook his head. "C'mon, spill."

"Huh?"

"What's got you spooked about that note?"

Carter shook her head and took another couple of bites of her dinner. "It's not just your blood on there, is it?"

"Nope." He looked at her and decided she'd just gnaw at it until she got it all out of him. "Yours too."

"I wondered, since the fingerprint . . .."

They were silent as they finished their meals. Jack gathered the remains of their food packets and casually tossed them onto the fire while Carter busied herself with her bag, pulling out various items and then replacing them just as quickly. She was clearly unfocused, and while it amused him to watch her "pile move" things from one side of her bag to another, he knew it was really a sign of a greater inner disorderliness that he needed to address. A distracted Carter on a mission wasn't a safe Carter. And he disliked seeing her unhappy, and he sensed that blood-spattered note had shaken her more than she'd wanted to admit.

"Carter."

"Sir?" Her head snapped up and her fingers stilled inside of her gear bag.

"Sit." He waved to the seats they'd occupied by the fire earlier. "Relax."

Blowing out a breath, Carter grabbed her jacket and reseated herself beside him, zipping up her jacket as she did so. Without prompting, she began to speak. "I know it's kind of nuts, Colonel, but that note . . . I don't know, every time I think about it I get the shivers."

"Goose walked over your grave."

"Yeah," she sent him a soft smile. "My dad says the same thing."

O'Neill frowned and winced, not liking the comparison. "Oh, _well_. Thanks for that."

She looked confused for a moment before flashing him a smile. "Oh, no. I didn't mean it like that. I certainly don't think of you as– er, I mean . . . um. Yeah. Anyway."

"The note."

"The note." She gave a small shudder again. "What could have been so wrong that you and I _both_ . . ." she trailed off.

"Must've been pretty important."

"Yeah." Again she let her thoughts overtake her and stared moodily into the fire. Jack was content to let her sit quietly while he set about getting ready for the night. The villagers had assured them repeatedly that their destination lay far enough into their lands that nobody would threaten them, but he still set up the small early warning detectors Carter had devised a few weeks back. Wouldn't hurt to know if anything—two- or four-legged—came a-visiting.

By the time he'd set the last of the infrared devices out, it was full dark. Neither of the moons had risen yet and their site on the edge of the clearing, nestled as it was against the base of the giant fir trees, made their camp next to impossible to find, save for the fire still blazing merrily away. As he got closer, he snagged one of the larger logs and dragged it to the clearing side of the fire, effectively blocking the bright beacon of flame from view. Standing and warming his hands over the flames, Jack studied his Second, using the guise of concern to take a long moment to just . . . enjoy . . . her. The kiss of firelight across her features, the shimmer of blonde hair shot through with golden streaks in the glow of the flames. The only thing marring his enjoyment was the tiny furrow that crossed her brow, and Jack suddenly decided he'd had enough of that.

Dropping down beside her, he nudged her shoulder with his. "Hey," he said as he warmed up his coffee. "Snap out of it." When she just blinked at him he tipped his head. "At least it appears we went out together." Carter's eyes widened and Jack groaned as he mentally reviewed what he'd said. "C'mon, you know what I mean. My blood on the thing, yours. Your fingerprint. We musta been there . . . together, right?"

"Seems that way," she responded, clearly making an effort to pull herself from her introspective mood.

"So . . . that's something then, isn't it?" He turned his head and met her gaze, his eyes seeking and holding hers. As was often the case with them, he felt as if they were having two conversations; one spoken aloud and the other not. He could only hope that she was understanding both conversations, even if he wasn't entirely certain what it was that he was saying.

Carter tipped her head and rested her chin on her knee. She wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked her fingers into the sleeves of her jacket. "What do you mean?"

Jack broke their gaze and tipped his head back, studying the unfamliar tapestry of stars sparkling in the sky above. He stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. Holding his mug in both hands, mostly to keep his fingers still, and carefully considered his words. "I can't . . . I have to believe that if we, SG-1, ran into something so awful, so . . . I dunno . . . _nasty_, that we fought to the point of bleeding—

"Or death," she interjected softly.

"Or death," he acknowledged with a nod. "It had to be something . . . important." He paused and took a drink of his coffee. "Some part of me is, well, comforted, I guess, that I didn't die alone." He scowled into the fire. Yup, he sucked at this talking stuff, and as nice as it was to be here alone with Carter, he sort of wished Daniel were here to handle this part. But then again . . . "What I'm tryin' to say, Carter, is that if I have to die doing something important, I'm glad that you were there too." He looked over at her soft snort and then added hastily, "Not that I _want _you to die, that is. I mean–"

Her soft laughter cut him off and he stopped his fumbling response when she laid her hand on his arm. "I get it, Colonel, don't worry."

Her hand didn't move as she turned her head toward the fire and Jack was certainly not going to do anything to call her attention to it. He liked this connection with her. Needed it. Sometimes _craved_ it with an intensity that often surprised him. Jack O'Neill didn't _need_ anything, or anyone. But, it seemed . . . he needed her. So he allowed himself those fleeting touches they shared from time-to-time; those not-always-innocent finger-touches, shoulder bumps, elbow nudges. Anything and everything he could get . . . for now.

The fire popped and Carter's hand tightened again on his arm and then she let go. She mumbled something as she rose and Jack reached out and tapped her leg before she could step away.

"Say again?" When she didn't answer right away he tipped his head back. Her face was in shadow and he could just barely make out the glimmer of her eyes reflected by the fire.

"I said," she whispered, "I'd want you, too."

Jack felt his jaw drop at her words, but before he could respond, she stammered, "I, ah, I meant, Colonel, um–"

"Relax, Carter. I got it." Jack patted her leg, forcing his wildly swinging thoughts to the back of his head. He knew what she'd meant, but what she'd said . . . holy _hell_.

"At the end, I meant. I'd want you to be there with me at the end."

"Yeah?"

This time when he looked up she turned and met his gaze. "Yeah."

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): I got nuthin.'


	18. Another Wrinkle or Two

A/N: This is a bonus _Campfire_, written for Ikorni as a GW Shipper Thread Secret Santa gift. The germ of this idea came from QueenLira's feedback to the last story, so I decided to see if I could make it work as a gift. Thanks huge bunches to SaraB for the last-second beta and, as always, to LeiaSky for adding that little bit that makes it so much better.

Set during _2010_, on Earth, mid-episode, so it's technically still the year 2010; we have not had the reset that Carter instigates in this episode. This AU _Campfire_ takes place after Sam goes to see Jack and asks for his help (which he flatly refuses to give) and before Sam and Daniel tour the "old SGC" (_" . . . and we're walking . . ."_).

Episode synopsis: _A decade in the future, Earth's alliance with a highly intelligent race of aliens has rendered SGC obsolete. But when Carter, now married to a human ambassador to the aliens, uncovers a terrifying secret about these "benevolent" beings, she must reassemble SG-1 to send an urgent message to the past._

~ o0o~

_Another Wrinkle or Two_

~ o0o~

Old United States Air Force Academy Grounds  
Chapel Overlook  
22:15 Earth Standard Time  
2010

Sam scuffed her booted foot against an especially large tuft of grass and listened as her petulant kick sparked a flurry of movement from the various small critters she imagined were running wild in the underbrush. The moon was high, providing enough light for her to make out the irregular edges of the stone circle that dominated the chapel overlook. She kicked again, this time picking on a small rock and sending it flying. When she'd launched it into the darkness she turned and rested her forearms on what must have been the dolman stone of the brief "earth-centered worship" circle on the Academy grounds. Snorting softly, she considered the term; "earth-centered" had been what the Academy chaplains had called the ceremonies that were supposed to take place here. Academy officials had barely begun to accept other forms of religion before the need became obsolete.

This center stone, cylindrical in shape with rough-cut sides and a worn-smooth top stood inside of a ring of stones about six feet across. In the darkness that blanketed the hilltop she couldn't make out the larger, outer ring of stones, but she could feel them there, hulking shadows standing sentry on what to her was still hallowed ground.

From her vantage point she could see the glow of the Chapel lights spilling out onto the once pristine forecourt of the jewel of the Academy. Since the Aschen, the Academy was no longer what it was. None of the service academies were, but to Sam, of course, the loss of this place as the center of where she'd become to come into her own, cut especially deep. The chapel was still in use but the dorms had become housing for the Aschen Confederation representatives. The once proud sculpture garden was nothing more than an empty concrete pad with just the pedestals that had held the bronze statues and aircraft. Sam had fought bitterly to keep at least this small part of the Academy tradition intact but had ultimately been overruled. Mollum's words played like a litany over and over in her head.

~ o0o ~

"_You are still holding onto your old ways, Samantha. It is time for you to move forward. For your planet to do so."_

"_But," Sam argued, "Mollum, don't you see? You have . . . well, you have given us all so much, but it's not as if we came to you with nothing." She gestured to the three-dimensional holoscreen, on which was being broadcast the decommissioning of the Academy, the last of the service academies to fall. "It's because of places like that that we were able to meet you at all."_

_Mollum sighed and pressed a button. The rotating display snapped off and was replaced by the problem on which they had been working. "I understand your concerns, but as I said, it is time for you, for your people, to move forward. The past—your violent past—is just that . . . past. Reminders of that violence serve no purpose. Now is the time for progress."_

~ o0o ~

Sam shivered and straightened, wrapping her arms around her middle. _Progress_. She snorted again, louder this time. Some progress. The wind sweeping across the deserted hilltop was picking up, causing the tall pines around her to increase their whispered mutterings and she shivered again. She wasn't nervous about being alone here, but she was . . . lonely. Shaking her head, Sam tipped her head back and studied the sky above.

Even with the bright moon, the stars above the mountain were bright and plentiful. It had been a long time since she'd looked at these stars. A long time since she'd felt the need to. Or . . . really, to let herself do it. It reminded her of too much. Of too many times doing this with someone other than her husband. Of how she'd felt when that other man turned his back then . . . and now.

"I wondered if I'd find you up here."

Sam didn't even twitch when Jack's voice came out of the darkness behind her. Somehow she'd known he would come. Even after leaving his cabin yesterday. After telling Daniel and Teal'c that they were on their own, she'd known. So she'd come. And, now that he was here, she realized that of _course _he would come here. Because he knew _she_ would be here. No matter what he'd said, what had—and had not—passed between them, she had known that much. Still, there were things that needed to be said. Turning to face him, she kept her eyes away from the low beam of his flashlight, trying to preserve some night vision. "How'd you find me?"

Jack stepped out of the shadows and approached. He lifted his free hand and tapped the back of his neck. "You still have your beacon, and I still have some friends."

"Oh." Sam reached up and absently rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers automatically finding the tiny bump that marked the site of her subcutaneous implant. "Haven't thought about it for years, forgot it was there."

"You can bet the Aschen haven't." He moved closer to her and stopped, his head tipped to one side. The moonlight washed his grizzled features in jagged lines, broken by the deeper chasms of his eyes, those deep amber windows to what he kept so carefully shielded, hidden in the darkness.

Newfound bitterness washed through Sam and she turned away, realizing the truth of his words. _You can bet the Aschen haven't. _"You're right. I'll have to do something about that." She felt him move away, then heard the scrape and flare of a match being lit. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like?"

Suddenly Sam was pissed. _Really_ pissed. Madder than she could remember ever being. At him. At Joe. At the Aschen. At herself. At the mother-effing planet. She wasn't in the mood to play games and she didn't have to patience to solve another enigmatic 'Jack O'Neill Equation.' Not tonight.

Not ever again.

Not moving from her position, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I _know_ _what_ you're doing, I want to know . . . why."

"It's getting cold."

"Cut it out." Her snapped out command brought them both up short.

"Careful," he said softly, his attention still on the flames.

"Why?" Two long strides brought her to his side and she stood over him, glaring. "You told me to 'lose the Sir,' didn't you?" She shrugged, forcing a casual indifference she certainly didn't feel. "This is me, losing the 'Sir,' _Jack_." Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she consciously relaxed her shoulders. Disrespect to anyone, but especially to this man, did not sit well on her.

For a long moment he said nothing. Finally, blowing out a long breath of his own, he looked up at her, his expression neutral. "Fair enough. You got your shot in. Now . . . you gonna sit down?" He held up a hand before she could speak again. "So we can . . . talk?"

It was the way he said the last word that did it for her. Made him sound like the Jack O'Neill she'd . . . loved . . . so long ago. Would still have loved, if only– Abruptly, all the strength went out of her legs and she let herself fall, crumpling in less-than-graceful heap beside him.

Jack just nodded and returned his attention to the fire, slowly adding bits of tinder and twigs to bring the flames high enough to do some good. He looked around the larger circle, a puzzled frown on his face. "Don't remember this place being here."

"It was one of the last new things to be added before they . . . before," she finished lamely. "Some cadets and staff wanted an 'alternative' worship site."

"And the brass signed off on it?"

"'Every service member is charged with defending freedom for all Americans, and that includes freedom to practice our religion of choice,'" Sam quoted dryly. "Remember? You took that oath, too." 

"I did."

Silence descended upon them, broken only be the merrily crackling little fire O'Neill had built. Sam closed her eyes and breathed in the almost-forgotten scent of burning wood, pine, nighttime, and . . . Jack O'Neill. For a moment she let herself pretend. To believe. To let her mind slip back in time to so many other fires, so many other cloudless nights, the sky above glittering with the diamond pinpoints of stars, so many hours of silent contemplation and endless possibilities. Quiet time, but never lonely. Never alone.

Oh, how she'd missed all of it.

Missed this.

Missed . . . him.

"I gotta know something, Sam."

She turned her head but he wouldn't meet her gaze, so she just waited, her cheek resting on her upturned knees. The years hadn't been kind to him, but they hadn't been harsh either. The lines on his face were deeper, the creases framing his mouth extending lower, but overall, he wore the last ten years well. His cheek twitched as his jaw worked while he silently wrestled with whatever it was he wanted to ask her. Where once she might have reached out, touched his arm to help him, to ease his way into finding the words, now she simply waited. This was his party. He'd come to her, he would have to take the next step, too.

"Why?" His whispered question was almost taken on the night wind.

"Because you're the only one I know who can–"

"No," he shook his head. "_Why_, Sam? Why did you just . . . you left."

Shock stiffened her spine. What the hell was he talking about? _She_ hadn't left! _She _wasn't the one who– She opened her mouth to protest, to defend, and then caught his gaze on hers. The deep amber of his eyes, that depthless brown that had so often silenced her, had comforted her, had offered her hope, was now so very hopeless, and it was that which silenced her.

He looked so utterly . . . hopeless. The expression was so foreign on his well-known features that she felt her heart stagger.

Stutter.

Trip forward at triple its normal rate.

"Jack," she breathed. "I _never_ . . . is that what you think I did?"

A single shoulder lifted and fell, though his eyes never left hers. Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, there and gone so fast that she wasn't entirely certain she'd seen it. Sam closed her eyes but was unable to block out the vision of his so squarely on hers. So deep and warm, so wonderfully _there_, even after all this time.

Biting back a soft curse, Sam turned her head down and buried her face in her hands, hunched over her knees. She knew she wasn't responsible for _everything_ that had gone on in the last ten years. All that had gone on and all that hadn't. That never would. That couldn't be. Again she was filled with the aching loss of pain and emptiness at the thought of the children she would never have.

_Could_ never have.

Once, so long ago it seemed almost a childish dream, she'd entertained the fantasy that she would not only have children, but she'd have them with the man sitting silently beside her. When had it all gone so terribly wrong? _Why_ had it? Thinking back, she couldn't put her finger on one single thing. One event. Everything tumbled into a series of cascading decisions . . . and changes.

The beginning flashed through her memory again, as it had all day. The initial meeting with the Aschen, their offers of alliance and goodwill. Seemingly endless goodwill. Tense meetings at the SGC, in her lab, in O'Neill's office—for he had been only 'O'Neill' to her then. Or 'Sir." Or the Colonel. All she'd allowed him to be . . . or all they'd allowed each other. And then . . . just when it seemed they could do more, could _be_ more, he . . . left.

Disengaged.

Pulled away.

Unbidden, that final, painful rending came back to her as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

~ o0o ~

_Sam stood with the others as General Hammond stood and escorted the Aschen Ambassador from the room, the Earth Ambassadorial staff trailing behind. The newly appointed Ambassador Faxon hesitated, hovering near the doorway. He tried to catch her eye, but Sam, still embarrassed by her CO's final outburst, avoided his gaze._

_Daniel had left with the General and Teal'c sat silently, though Sam could feel disapproval rolling off of him in waves. She wasn't certain if he was disappointed in O'Neill or in her . . . her siding with the General on the recommendations that Daniel had just made to the Council._

_Glancing to her right, there was no mistaking O'Neill's displeasure with her. His expression was glacial as he glared down at the notepad before him. As usual, it was littered with nearly unintelligible scribbles and random words. Sam caught a glimpse of her own name among the jumble of words, and another word . . . was that 'dinner'? Before she could get a better look, however, the Colonel ripped the paper off the pad, the harsh sound rending the tense silence of the room._

"_Colonel–" She reached out, but to her utter shock, he shook her off._

"_No." When he looked up, Sam caught her breath. For just a second she'd seen a flash of something approaching pain in his eyes. That flash was instantly subsumed by a seething fire. "You've made your choice." He stood, the staccato pattern of his words matching the heat of his voice. "I get that." Flashing a quick look at her he turned away. "I even respect that."_

"_Sir–" Sam once again reached out, fighting a desperation she couldn't quite put a name to. It was vital that she not let him leave. Vital that he stay, that he listen to her, that he . . . _

_Before she could continue, Teal'c rose and, after giving them each a short bow, turned and left the room, taking the remaining staff with him with a single look. Leaving them alone. _

_Sam stepped away from her chair and came to stand beside her Colonel. She was careful to stand beside him, to not confront him, not box him in. Trying again, she said softly, "Colonel, it's not that I disagree with you, it's just that–"_

"_Sam," O'Neill's voice was softer now. No less hurt, but with less fire behind his words. "Please. Leave me some dignity here. I respect your decision. Do me the same courtesy." He didn't elaborate. He didn't have to. Whether it was the Aschen, or the Confederation, the treaty, or of the new Ambassador Faxon's all-too-flattering attention. It didn't matter. It hadn't mattered. _

_He met her gaze and something in her shivered at the intensity of what she saw there, waiting for her. How she longed to simply reach out and take. She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, forestalling her._

"_Please. Don't ask me to agree with something that I believe with everything in me is so _incredibly_ wrong. Not even for–" _

_He cut himself off, but the unspoken 'you' was a clear as if he'd uttered the word aloud. A voice from the hallway startled them both as the duty officer poked his head into the room. "Colonel Carter, the Ambassador is waiting."_

_Sam's gaze snapped to the young officer. "Lieutenant, ah, Ikorni? Can you tell the Ambassador that I'll be in my office in fifteen minutes?" She waited until the door closed again and then turned back to her Colonel._

_His eyes were shuttered and he stepped back, gesturing with his chin toward the door. "Go. Do. Lead."_

"_But . . ." She sighed. "Will you be here later, Sir?"_

"_Sure."_

_Nodding, Sam gathered up her notes and resolved to try again later, after their shift was over. Give him time to cool off. Her last glimpse of him as she walked out of the room had been his still and silent form silhouetted against the observation window._

_She hadn't gotten the chance. In the end, he'd walked away._

_From the SGC. _

_From SG-1._

_From her._

~ o0o ~

"_I_ didn't walk away, Jack, you did." She dropped her knees down and folded her legs up, resting her elbows on her thighs. "I'm pretty sure you told me to go."

Waving a hand, Jack acknowledged her words. Then, glancing at her, he grimaced. "Okay. Yeah." He scrubbed at his nose and then asked quietly, "Guess it's too late to tell you I didn't really mean it?"

Sam blew out a long sigh and quietly shook her head. "Oh my God, Jack. You _think_?" Unable to keep still, she rose and began to pace around the snapping little fire. Once again the anger, usually so far away and now bubbling alarmingly close to the surface, rose up and spilled over. "You didn't _mean_ it? Are you _kidding_ me?" She didn't give him time to speak, for once giving free reign to the temper she'd so long kept in check. "First you, back then, and now . . . now Joe. Mollum! The Aschen! Why? Why did you never really _tell_ me?" She waved off his protests. "Oh, I know you said you didn't trust the Aschen, but honestly Colonel," she rounded on him, her slip back into the old form of address unnoticed by either of them. "You didn't trust _anybody_ back then! Every. Single. Potential. Ally! We'd meet someone and there you'd be, stirring things up, making snide little comments!"

"Sam–"

"Oh, no. I've had a good long time to be mad at you. Call me a 'national treasure' do you? Well, treasure _this_!" She squared off, facing him over the fire. "I would have stood with you, Jack O'Neill. _By_ you. Toe to toe. Back to back." She stepped to where he'd risen to stand beside the fire and jabbed his chest with each word. "Against _anyone_! All you _ever_ had to do was tell me why. Just . . . _tell_ me." She blew out a breath and stepped back, out of the circle of firelight. "Why didn't you just tell me? You were . . . nasty, and sarcastic, and . . ."

"Me."

That one, single word took the wind right out of her sails. "Yeah. You were . . . you. How was I supposed to know that _that_ you was the _you_ I was supposed to believe in?"

He offered nothing. No explanation, no excuses. Just stood there, waiting for her to vent and to release the long pent up anger and steam. Finally he shook his head. "Well. We couldn't have screwed this up anymore if we'd tried." He held up his hand to stop her from taking off again. "No. My turn. We both made mistakes. I thought . . . I believed that in the end, you would–"

Stepping back from her, from the fire, it was Jack's turn to pace, and Sam followed his movements, watching as his normally graceful stride was broken by jerky stops and kicks at any small stone that got in his way. Despite his obvious distress, her own anger and disappointment, she couldn't help but appreciate being here with him. Again. And being here reminded her that she was _not_ here with her husband.

Joe.

Leaving Jack to his restless pacing, Sam sank down again to her seat by the fire. _Joe_. He couldn't know, could he? Her logical mind warred with her emotional center. He was so involved with them, so deep within their system, he . . . God, he couldn't. He wouldn't . . .. No, she shook her head. No. Joe couldn't have known. He was just as disappointed as she. He'd said so.

She believed him.

Believed _in_ him.

When had she begun believing more in him than in herself? In her team? In . . . Jack? Despite what her heart was telling her, the logical part of her was slowly winning the fight. Joe _had_ to know some of it. Something. It just didn't make sense that he wouldn't. How much knew was the ultimate question. Did he know what the Aschen were doing to the planet? To their people. To . . . her. That . . . that would be the ultimate betrayal. Not only had he betrayed her, but he had sold out their entire_ race_, for which she . . . they . . . had sacrificed so much. It was . . . unfathomable. Unthinkable. What had Jack called him? Her 'dearly beloved'? Shaking her head, she slumped forward, running her hands through her hair, cradling her forehead in her palms. She felt as if a switch had been flipped, a light turned on. Or off.

She'd married Joe in the midst of that cascading waterfall of changes. Changes to the SGC, to her team, to the planet. Daniel had asked her only once if she were certain Joe was what she'd wanted. Even now her answer to him seemed to whisk by on a mad carousel of color, noise and movement. Teal'c, she knew, had liked Joe, and that had been important. The Colonel. Sir. _Jack_. Jack had . . . said nothing. Janet and Cassie, too, had been caught up. They all had, in the promise of what they were being offered, being given. Everyone had been so, God, so _blinded_.

Everyone except Jack, who had not been blind, but had been mute. Or rendered thus.

The silence of the night was broken only by the unceasing whisper of the wind in the trees, the snap and pop of the small fire, and the occasional hooting of a lonely owl. The darkness was complete now, even the moon had slipped behind the shadow of Pikes Peak, leaving their little clearing lit only by the dancing flames teased by the fickle wind. The air was rich with the smell of pine, of wood smoke, of damp grass and night blooming plants. The richness belied the emptiness she felt, an emptiness echoed in the eyes of the man who slowly, carefully moved to sit beside her.

"I was wrong, you know," Jack muttered.

"About which thing," she asked dully, her head still buried in her hands.

"All of it?" He shrugged, the movement bringing his shoulder up against hers, the pressure reminding her of so many other times, so many other places. "I miss it, all of it. The work. The . . . travel. The people." He paused again and added, "The fish."

"Fish?" Sam lifted her head and turned to him.

"What can I say? The pond has no fish. I miss that."

"Fish." She shook her head. "You miss . . . fish."

Jack grimaced and reached for a nearby stick. Poking at the fire, he watched the shower of sparks swirl into the sky before turning to face her. "Whaddya want me say, Sam?"

Sam slid her hands down and folded them in her lap. Meeting his gaze she said directly, "I need to hear it. All of it." She waved a hand. "We're going to do this, Daniel, Janet, Teal'c and me. We are. We have to. And if we're successful, then this . . . none of this will happen. Or will survive."

"And if you're not?"

"I guess I won't be around to know, and you can get that dog."

"Not sure I want to raise a dog on my own."

"Jack."

"Fine. You want me to say it, Carter? I'll say it. Damn it, I miss you. This. _Us_. It wasn't supposed to be this way. End this way. I thought . . . ah hell." He stopped, running his hands distractedly through his hair. "If we do this, if we get it right, it's all over. What about . . ."

Some of the tension slipped away from Sam as he spoke. His words echoed through her, opening long shuttered windows, unsealing the tight lock she'd kept around that secret corner of her heart. "I have to believe . . . I _want_ to believe that Joe doesn't know. That he didn't . . . didn't betray us all." She swallowed and looked down at her hands, then back at him. "But, either way, whether he knew or not, this is the right thing to do. We have to undo what the Aschen have done to us. What we have done to ourselves."

"Even if that means you never meet him?"

She held his gaze, opening herself up and letting him see. Letting him see everything she'd felt then, and—despite everything that had gone on—still felt now. It wasn't that she didn't love her husband. She did. She had, and she'd taken her vows meaning every word that she'd said. It was just . . . she'd loved Jack before. Longer. Far more deeply than she could have ever loved anyone else. And it was with the strength that came from ten years of loving someone else that she was able to finally let go, to let him see . . . everything. Giving him a tiny nod, she took that final step. "Yes, even if it means that."

He held her gaze for a long, silent moment before nodding his acceptance. Reaching out, he patted her arm, giving it a little squeeze before dropping his hand again. He poked the fire a few more times and then, looking over at her, said, "Kind of late to be finding a hotel room. Think I'll settle in here. Be nice to spend one last night out under the stars." Pulling a backpack out of the shadows, he reached in and dug around inside. He tossed a sweatshirt at her and donned another himself. He leaned back and stretched out, crossing his legs at the ankles and resting his folded hands across his stomach, his eyes on the sky above.

Sam watched as he made a show of arranging the backpack between them as some sort of shared pillow. She hadn't really considered where she'd be spending her night, what could be her last night on the planet. Or at least in this timeline. She'd simply come here, needing to be _here_, and knowing, in some way, that he would be here too.

She slipped the sweatshirt on over her own, inhaling and absorbing the scent of him that surrounded her. Grass, wood smoke, sawdust, and Jack O'Neill, all in one soft cotton package. She brushed away a few small rocks from her side of the fire and then, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she lay down, her head resting on her half of the makeshift pillow. On the opposite side, Jack's deep and even breathing was a comforting counterpoint to the night sounds around them.

The fire beside them continued to burn, the thin tendril of smoke winding and swinging into the night sky, blurred by the uneven wind. The stars above glittered silently in the velvety blackness, silent witness to the capriciousness of life below.

"You really miss fish?"

"Fish_ing_. I miss the fish_ing_," he said, placing the emphasis on the second syllable. "It's not about the fish, Sam." Another long pause, and then, "But I'd still like to get a dog."

"Maybe next time?"

"Deal."

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): So . . . little known fact. There really _is_ an 'earth-centered worship' circle on the Academy's grounds. It's just west of the Chapel on the hilltop above and behind the Welcome Center. I realize this isn't very Christmassy, but . . . it's what the muse had to share. Hope you enjoyed it, and Happy Christmas, Ikorni!


	19. Steadfast

Repost due to FFN hiccups.

A/N: This is dedicated to the great Steadfast as a reminder that with love and good friends, all things are possible. This _Campfire_ takes place on Earth just before Jack enters the infirmary to see the unconscious Daniel.

Episode synopsis: _When a Harcesis child with Goa'uld genetic memory is found on the planet Abydos, he is brought to SGC. Once there, he sends a telepathic message, causing Daniel Jackson's personality to undergo disturbing changes. Will the rest of SG-1 be able to solve the mystery of the boy's origin before Jackson becomes a power-hungry warmonger?_

~ o0o ~

_**Steadfast**_

~ o0o ~

Earth  
Jack O'Neill's House  
2124 SGC Standard Time

One of the best things about living in Colorado Springs, Jack decided, was that no matter what time of year it was, once the sun dropped behind Cheyenne Mountain and night fell, it was nearly always cool enough in his valley to light a fire, inside or out.

Tonight was outside. He was restless and edgy, and after Hammond asked Daniel to speak to the Harcesis boy, Jack had gone home. Stretching out his legs and crossing his feet, he contemplated the emerging stars and wondered which of the unidentifiable items in his freezer he might turn into a meal. Not feeling particularly motivated, he took another sip of his Guinness.

"Sir?"

"Back here!" Jack tipped his head back and turned it, watching as his Second picked her way across the dew-dampened grass. He raised an eyebrow at the bags she was carrying, then flashed her a small smile as the scents of fried chicken and French fries wafted on the evening breeze.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced–"

"My momma told me to never turn away anyone bearing free food, and certainly not a beau– ah . . ." Jack coughed and shifted over. "Ah, let me just run in and get you a drink."

Carter dropped down beside him, handing him a bag and effectively holding him in place. "Colonel, I'm good. I've got a diet Coke right here."

"Right." Jack resettled himself and hoped she'd missed his slip. He peeked inside of the bag she'd handed him and breathed deeply of the warm, greasy, and incredibly rich scent of fried food filled his soul. "What'dja bring me?"

Munching on a fry, Carter smiled at him. "Really? You only ever order one thing."

"Sweet." Jack dug in. Riley's made _the_ best, hands down, fried chicken and fries Jack had ever had the good fortune to eat. Sucking in air to cool his slightly burned tongue, he peered deeper into the bag. _God love her, she brought me thighs. I'm *such* a thigh man. _Even as the thought flashed through his brain, Carter turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide. Jack sucked in a surprised breath and promptly began to choke.

Pounding him on the back, Carter waited until he caught his breath. "Okay, Sir?"

"Uh, yeah." He frowned at her. "You, uh . . . didn't hear that, did you?"

"Hear what?"

He studied her and she returned his gaze evenly. Jack felt his pulse settle to something close to a normal rate. "Nothing," he mumbled, as he bit into his dinner. This was _so_ much better than anything he unearthed from the depths of his freezer. Absently he lifted another log and tossed it onto the fire, causing a swirl of sparks to spin upward in a frenzied dance.

Beside him, Carter nibbled at her chicken. She carefully took a few bites of chicken and then nibbled at a fry, almost in a rhythmic pattern. She never bit directly into the chicken, instead pulling bits off of the bone with her fingers and lifting them to her mouth. The whole process was strangely intoxicating to him and . . . somewhat calming.

Jack suddenly realized he wasn't as nearly as edgy as he had been before she arrived. And speaking of which . . . "So," he waved a half-eaten chicken thigh in the air. "Not that I'm complaining, but what brings you by on this fine evening?"

Carter shrugged and continued eating. Taking a long sip of her drink, she wiped her hands on her napkin and then dropped her hands into her lap. She glanced at him under long eyelashes and shrugged again. "No particular reason, Sir. I was just . . . edgy, I guess."

"Edgy."

"Yes. I tried to get Teal'c to spar with me but he insisted that he needed to perform kel-no-reem." She munched on another fry and then turned to him. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Hmm?" Jack shook his head. "Mind? No, not at all." He waited her out, knowing that if he did, she'd eventually tell him what was on her mind. For himself, he was perfectly content to sit before a fire with a beautiful woman beside him and freshly fried food in his lap. Of course, truth be told, he wouldn't mind if those last two were reversed, but the chances of that happening were as high as Daniel suddenly becoming President of the United States.

"You think Daniel might do it?"

Jack coughed, trying to keep the large bite of chicken he'd just taken from flying down his windpipe. "Uh–" He coughed again and took a long swallow of Guinness. _Damn, that's the second time she's done that to me tonight!_ Jack looked over at her. "Carter?"

"You know, get Shifu to agree to the Tok'ra's proposal?"

"Dunno. Hope so."

"Do you?"

Jack met her gaze, catching the concern in her eyes. "Don't you?"

"I'm not sure."

"Why not?"

Carter set her dinner aside and leaned back to rest her back against the bench behind them both. Like him, she stretched her long legs out toward the fire, crossing them at the ankle, her position almost a mirror of his. She lifted a shoulder and let it drop, and he felt her arm bump his. "I don't really know. It's just a . . . dunno . . . a gut feeling? A hunch?"

"Your hunches are usually pretty good, Carter." He nudged her shoulder with his. "Spill."

She took another long swallow of her drink and shook her head. "Nothing really to spill, Colonel. I just can't help wondering if Shifu is really what he says he is. It seems too good to be true, doesn't it? That this just falls into our lap?"

"I thought _I_ was supposed to be the skeptic?"

"Just my opinion."

"Your opinion is worth a lot, Carter."

She met his gaze, her eyes, as always, washed clear in the dancing firelight. Jack didn't need any light to know just what shade of blue those eyes were, and when she looked at him as she was doing now, it took everything he had to resist leaning forward and taking her into his arms. He loved these moments with her, these brief quiet . . . stolen . . . minutes of just the two of them. She steadied him, he knew, and all other complicating factors aside, he was loathe to do anything that might mess that up. Something of what he felt must have shown on her face, because those lovely eyes widened slightly and she whispered softly, "Thank you."

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Jack took advantage of the chance to just look at her, though he knew he couldn't indulge for long. Not with the spooky psychic thing she had going on tonight.

"Mind if I hang out here for a while, Sir?" Her quiet question floated on the night air.

"You don't see me kicking you out, do you?"

"No, but I don't want to intrude."

"Carter."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just feel . . . steadier now than before."

Jack let a small chuckle slip free. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing." He, too, set his dinner aside and folded his arms across his chest. He was quite conscious that in doing so his shoulder and upper arm was now firmly pressed against hers, but he didn't move it. "Thanks again for dinner."

"Anytime." She bit back a yawn, her eyes still closed, and her voice sounding sleepy and relaxed.

They sat silently, Jack enjoying the warmth of having her near. He missed this, he realized. The quiet times of being in a relationship. The shared moments of just . . . _being_. Above all else, that was probably what he missed the most. Okay . . . second most, but he wasn't going there. At least not with her right next to him.

The fire had burned itself down to embers, and Jack was just considering suggesting his now sleeping Second crash in his guest room when his cell phone rang, startling them both. He frowned as he pulled it from his pocket. "O'Neill. What? We'll be right there."

Carter had actually beaten him to his feet, reacting to his end of the phone call. She was kicking dirt over the glowing embers even as Jack was snatching up the remains of their meal. "Sir?" All traces of relaxation and sleep were gone and his capable Second faced him.

"That was Fraiser. Daniel collapsed while talking to the kid."

"Go on, Sir. I'll be right behind you."

Carter stamped down on the last of the embers and grabbed her jacket. Jack stopped her with a hand on her arm. "No. We go together."

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): I was struck by this bit of dialogue from the episode. It takes place during Daniel's "teaching dream" when O'Neill visits Carter in her cell:

_O'NEILL_

_I couldn't prove anything. Can you?_

_CARTER_

_No, I just have my opinion. But that used to be worth something to you._

I thought that was quite the shippy thing for _Daniel_ to have worked into his own "teaching dream," so . . . that became the basis for this _Campfire_.

Written with gratitude and thanks for Sf's ongoing support and friendship. Your strength astounds me. Remember, never give up, never surrender!


	20. Safe Bet

A/N: This _Campfire_ takes place following _The Light_,on P4X-347 about a week after the episode ends.

Episode synopsis: _SG-1 finds a deserted Goa'uld palace, where a beautiful device causes suicidal tendencies. Before a cure is discovered, SG-5 have died of the effects, and SG-1 must wean themselves slowly over a period of weeks to avoid the deadly withdrawal symptoms._

~ o0o ~

_**Safe Bet**_

~ o0o ~

P4X-347  
Beach  
3.5 km from cave  
Planetary sunset

"I can't believe you _bet _on me."

"Hmm?" With an expert flip of his wrist, O'Neill skipped another flat rock out across the water, tapping his finger on his leg as the stone bounced nine . . . ten . . . eleven times before sinking below the mirror-like surface. "Nice." Turning back to Sam, he asked, "What'd you say, Carter?"

Sam gazed across the small pool, an overlarge tidal pool fed by the ocean but not affected by its motion at low tide, as it was now. She watched the ripples from the Colonel's rock spread and merge, concentric circles reflecting the fading colors of the evening sky. Stuffing her hands in her pockets she said, "Your bet. With Daniel. I can't believe you did that, Sir."

O'Neill shrugged as he bent to pick up another rock. "What can I say?"

Blowing out a long sigh, Sam scuffed her boot against the ring they'd built on the sandy isthmus separating the ocean from the tidal pool and crouched down. The evening breeze had pretty much died off, so when she scraped her match across the back of the small container, the bright flame flared to life and quickly caught the dried sea grass she'd gathered and stuffed into the small pile of driftwood. Once the flames began licking at the wood she dropped down onto the sand and crossed her legs, watching as O'Neill continued his search for the perfect skipping stone.

She bit back another sigh, absently jabbing a twisted piece of wood into the sand at her feet, trying to get a handle on her irritation. She knew it was caused by withdrawal, just as she knew they were pushing their recovery from the effects of the Goa'uld device by straying so far from the cave. But the tradeoff was that neither of them would be tempted to throttle Daniel, who seemed to be more susceptible to loss of the dopamine-like effects, and whinier as a result. She _really _didn't do whining well at all.

After two weeks of slowly backing down the levels of the device, they'd been forced to increase it again when both she and O'Neill had gotten tremendous migraines and Daniel had been nearly comatose with pain.

The fire crackled as the flames took hold of the driftwood and began a slow crawl up the twisting, gnarled wood. Mesmerized by the creeping of the flames against the illusory movement of the weathered and deeply grained wood, Sam felt some of her tension seeping away. She stretched her back and deliberately tipped her head from side to side, flexing the muscles of her neck and shoulders before stretching out next to the fire. She rested her head on the palms of her clasped hands and watched the stars begin to dance against the backdrop of the darkening sky.

O'Neill, silhouetted against the quickly fading sunset, drifted into her line of sight. He stood watching her for a moment before circling the fire, moving again out of view. A muffled grunt and the rustle of fabric told her he, too, was settling down near her and the small puff of air and fine sand confirmed it as he flopped onto his back. He nudged her elbow and she tipped her head up to meet his gaze. "What's up?" He asked. "You can't _really_ be mad about the bet, you were the one who opened the pool on Carson and that really large–"

"I'm not. Not really." Sam returned her gaze to the stars and blew out a slow, even breath. "I'm trying not to complain, because as duty assignments go, this isn't a hardship. Not really." She sounded, even to her own ears, as if she were trying to convince herself.

"What's not to like?" O'Neill's had waved in the periphery of her vision. "Marooned . . . sorta . . . on a planet, on the _beach_, plenty of food, courtesy of those fine folks at the SGC . . . "

"At least they've stopped sending through MRE's. I swear, I was gonna hit someone if we got another packet of 'chicken'."

"Quiet, I'm listing virtues here."

"Sorry."

He waved her off with another sweeping gesture. "Think nothing of it. Now, where was I?"

"Food."

"Yes. Exactly. Food. And all the libations a body could want, of any variety–"

"As long as it's coffee, tea, or water."

"Carter, you're ruining my mojo here."

Stifling a chuckle, she mumbled another apology which he again waved away. "As I was _saying_," he paused, almost as if he were daring her to interrupt him again. "Only the finest desserts the Air Force has to offer, not to mention _dee_-luxe accommodations. Really, what more do you need?"

"You forgot to mention your charming companions," she added dryly, well aware that they had both been balanced on the knife-edge of madness more than a few times the last few days. If not truly madness, something akin to it.

"Ah, of course. Only the very best of boon companions with whom to while away the hours."

"'Boon'?"

"Yes. Boon." His voice took on a tone eerily similar to Daniel's when the other man was in full lecture mode. "As in from the mid-16th century, from Old French _bon_, from the Latin _bonus_, meaning 'good.' The early literal sense was 'good fellow,' originally denoting a drinking companion."

This time she couldn't stifle her laughter and it burst from her in a bright peal that rolled out over the whispering waves. She rose up onto her elbow and twisted to face him. "Wow, that was scary. For a minute I thought Daniel had wandered down this way." Sam watched him as he rolled onto his side and propped his head on one fist. He had a small, genuine smile on his face, an expression that he so rarely allowed free. "I hate to break it to you, Sir, but one of us is not a 'fellow,' and we seem to be short on the requisite 'drink' you mentioned.

"Quibbling, Carter. Let us not quibble."

"Yes, Sir." Sam, too, resettled herself, though she chose to roll onto her stomach, keeping the fire to her left and her head near O'Neill's. They formed a sort of right angle at the top of the small fire pit, the point furthest from the ocean's creeping waves. The gentle breeze played with her hair, blowing it across her eyes. Not wanting to move her chin from where it rested on her overlapping hands, she blew out a breath in an attempt to move it. When that didn't work, she frowned and tried again with no luck.

Before she could move, the Colonel reached out and brushed his finger along her forehead, lifting the offending strands out of her eyes. He dropped his hand and it fell to rest in the sand near hers. "Better?"

Sam's gaze was caught and held by his. The small fire danced merrily, bright flames teased by the intermittent wind into a twisting, sinuous dance that was reflected in the deep brown eyes that held her so still. What had he asked her? Was she better? Oh yes. Definitely. She was calmer. More centered. Still. And yet . . . suddenly more alive than ever before. Two weeks of being here, with him, had pushed her self control to the very edge. Their argument from that first day came back to her, when she told him flat out that she wouldn't be held to military ranks if they were stuck here forever.

Now, even knowing it wasn't going to be forever, she'd never been more tempted to throw it all aside. To lay it out there. To put aside all the unspoken promises, the veiled invitations, the stolen touches. She wanted to speak, to rip off the veil, and stop the stealing. She wanted . . . she wanted . . .

"Carter?" O'Neill's voice, though soft, was jarring.

Sam blinked, and suddenly she snapped back to who she was and who he was. To who they were. And to what they _weren't_. She sighed and closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of those enticing, inviting eyes, and nodded slightly. "Yes. Better. Thanks." She meant that for more than just his brushing her hair out of her eyes and knew he recognized that. Desperate for a change in topic, or simply _a_ topic, she reached blindly for something . . . and hit on it instantly.

"So . . . you never did tell me what the bet was about. I'm assuming it had something to do with whether I'd join Daniel rather than taking a few days off?"

O'Neill flicked a glance at her and then returned his gaze to the fire. "You could say that."

She frowned at him, trying to puzzle out what she'd seen. Something . . . she had it. "Wait a minute. _You_ were paying _him_. That means you _lost _the bet!"

"I did."

"So . . . the bet wasn't if I'd take a few days off?"

"Nope."

"Then . . ." she frowned and shook her head. "I don't get it." She waited, watching him, wondering why he suddenly looked so uncomfortable. Finally, he mumbled something she didn't quite catch. "What?"

O'Neill grunted and looked at her. "Took you about four hours longer to request to join Daniel than I figured."

"Oh." But she still didn't get it, not really. And suddenly she couldn't find the energy to care. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and stared out at the ocean. The light from the crackling fire kissed the edges of the waves as they rolled in, long, foamy cascades of flat steps that slid, tumbled, and faded into blackness. The unending ebb and flow was accompanied by the swish and sigh of the water pushed by the damp, salty wind. The sigh she blew out was snatched away on the tangy breeze. "It's endless, isn't it?"

"Carter?" O'Neill sat up and tossed another log on the fire.

Sam shrugged and said nothing. She suddenly felt as if she were going to cry and she had no idea why. She could feel O'Neill's gaze on her and blinked back the tears that threatened. It seemed so overwhelming sometimes. So impossible. Their mission to find a weapon to fight the Goa'uld, the need to find a way to keep their planet safe, and, perhaps the hardest of all, the absolute certainty that _nothing_ could . . . or would . . . change for her, for him . . . or _with_ him, until they'd accomplished the first two. Sometimes it was just too much. Despite her best efforts, she felt a single tear roll down her cheek.

"Sam." The Colonel's voice was soft, just a whisper above the breeze.

The warmth and understanding in that single, simple word was almost her undoing. She buried her head in her upturned knees and fought like hell for some composure, to regain some semblance of her normal strength and control. She never heard him move; a warm hand landed on her shoulder and gently guided her sideways into an even warmer shoulder.

She tensed for a moment, but when the hand on her shoulder squeezed, holding her in place, she gave in. For just a moment, she gave in . . . to the need for comfort from him. For warmth . . . from him. For an embrace . . . from him. Sitting there, leaning against Jack O'Neill, she took what comfort she could, allowing it to fill the empty places in her soul, to shore up her defenses, to give her the strength she needed to continue the seemingly endless journey.

"It's not endless."

"Hm?"

O'Neill tipped his head down to meet her gaze. "That," he said, flicking a glance toward the ocean at his feet. "There's always an end, Sam. Always."

Sam sighed and, despite wanting to stay in the warmth of his half-embrace, sat up. She laid her cheek on her knees and studied her Colonel's features. He sounded so sure, so confident. But he couldn't know, not really, what she'd meant.

O'Neill's gaze was on the water, his normally fidgeting fingers at rest and lying still in his lap. "I mean it, Sam. There _will_ be an end to this . . . to all of this." He turned to face her. "And when it does end, it'll be . . . amazing."

Sam's heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat and she didn't move—_couldn't_ move. Her eyes were captured by his, held there by the almost fierce promise in his eyes. For just an instant all barriers were down, all walls transparent. He was letting her see him, _all_ of him. She wanted to believe him. _Needed_ to believe him. "How do you know?," she whispered.

He studied her for a long moment before giving her a ghost of a wink. "Because it's you, and it's me. We're a pretty safe bet." His brow wrinkled slightly and he hastily added, "And Daniel and Teal'c, too, of course."

"But, what ab–"

"Sam . . ." The warmth and conviction in his voice was mirrored in his eyes. "Trust me."

And she did.

~ o0o ~

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Thanks to Leiasky for finding the pea in the mattress. Sorry about the long delay folks. I am truly committed to finishing these through the end of Season 8; you'll just have to bear with a professional writing career and professorial duties taking over from time to time.


	21. Reasons for Being

A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky, aka, "the Bridger" for saving this from mediocrity. And, as always, for brilliant beta work and being a great, great friend.

For Amy (Gater62). Because you kicked cancer's ass, but good.

Set after _Prodigy_ on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _Carter must help keep a promising young cadet from throwing away a future in the Air Force and possibly at the S.G.C. O'Neill and Teal'c encounter a dangerous life form at an off world research base_.

~ o0o ~

_Reasons for Being_

~ o0o ~

M5A-626

0121 SGCS

Sunset +6 Local

6Km E of Stargate

~ o0o ~

Sam Carter stretched her long legs out before the fire and blew out a breath. Thankfully this mission was going a lot more smoothly than the last. Cadet Hailey's introduction to Stargate travel had been a bit more...harrowing...than Sam, or the team, would have liked.

"Major, do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She looked around. "Are you off watch?"

Hailey nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Teal'c and Johnson relieved me and Baker ten minutes ago." Shifting her weapon awkwardly from its position at mid-body, Hailey hesitated, glancing from Sam to the nearby fire, then to the surrounding tents.

Sam studied the younger woman for a minute, then waved her to a seat near the fire. "Sit. Take a load off." She grinned to herself as she realized just how like her CO she sounded. "What's on your mind, Cadet?"

"I..." She awkwardly unclipped her weapon, her movements unsure and not yet the smoothly automatic procedure they could be. After setting it aside, but still within reach, Sam noted, Hailey simply stood there.

"Sit." The word was more of a command then invitation.

Hailey swallowed hard as she sat down. As Sam set the pot on the coals for her last cup of tea for the night, she tipped her head in question, then nodded when the younger woman shook her head. First-year Cadet First Class Jen Hailey had certainly come a long way in just the short few weeks she had been assigned TDY to the SGC. Gone was the know-it-all, outspoken cadet bent on proving the world wrong just because she could. Oh, the outspokenness was still there, and Sam had worked hard to make sure that particular quality had not been suppressed. No, it was the attitude that had changed the most; the "pushy, all-knowing, little snot," as O'Neill had dubbed her, had all but disappeared during Hailey's first mission with the team.

Truthfully, Sam was still surprised that nearly four years at the Academy had not taken that attitude down already. As she waited for Hailey to speak, she poked at the fire with the long stick the Colonel left behind earlier, sending sparks swirling up into the night air. The nights were longer here, and the days incredibly short, which made their fire that much more important. Sam really hadn't realized how much she depended on the simple, even rotational rhythm of sunlight to darkness until she and the team had gotten here. _Two more days, _she thought. _Well, two more SGC days_. Glancing again at the young woman by her side, Sam wondered if it would take the girl that long to speak her piece.

She'd poured steaming water into her cup, added a small tea bag, and set more water to heat for O'Neill's—well, _anyone's_ really, she reminded herself—use later, and still Hailey hadn't made a sound. Instead, she sat hunched in her jacket, almost as if she were expecting a blow. Finally, Sam couldn't take it. "Do I need to remind you that _you_ came to _me_ to talk, Cadet?"

"Huh?" Hailey shook off her stupor. "Sorry, Ma'am. I was thinking."

"I get that."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Sam bit back a smile. She really _was_ sounding more and more like her CO every day.

Hailey nodded. "Um, okay. Well, what I wanted to talk about, Major, is . . . well . . . ." She shoved her green field cap up off of her brow and frowned into the fire. "I don't get it."

Surprised, Sam leaned forward to catch the younger woman's eye. "I'll bet _that's_ not something you say often. You don't get _what_, exactly?"

"Well, why do you _do_ this?" She looked up at Sam and immediately amended her statement. "I mean, I get that it's exciting, and fun, and . . . but hell, Major. I've been talking to the others, and listening. And the things you do, or have had to do. The things you've . . . _seen_. The things that have tried to _kill_ you . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "No offense, Ma'am, but I think it's kind of nuts."

Sam sat there, open-mouthed in shock. _Nuts? The kid thinks this is . . . _nuts_?_ Here she'd reached out—breaking one or two regulations along the way—to have Hailey assigned TDY to the SGC to get a hint of what her future could be, and the kid . . . Sam simply shook her head, at a complete loss for words.

Hailey sat up straighter in her spot, clearly defensive in her pose. I —I'm sorry, Major, if I've offended you. It's just that—"

She stopped when Sam's hand shot up, palm outward, silently cutting her off. "No, it's okay, Hailey. Really." Sam stopped to collect her thoughts, forcing her mind to stop spinning. "I'm just . . . well, honestly, you caught me off guard. I know your first trip out of the 'Gate was a bit, um, more _exciting_ than we like, but in the end, you seemed to enjoy it."

"I did, Ma'am." Hailey bobbed her head. "I did."

"And on this trip we haven't had any major problems, as far as I can tell."

"No, Ma'am."

"So," Sam took a long, slow sip of her tea while she thought. What would have . . . ah, wait. "You've been talking to the guys in SG-5?" The Marine Combat unit was assigned on this mission as additional protection, if needed.

"Yes. Major Altman and his guys, Baker especially, were talking about that time on P2A-139 when you—SG-1, I mean—ran into–"

"Yeah. That wasn't pretty." Sam shrugged it off, though at the time she remembered wondering if any of them would get out alive. "But that was–"

Hailey interrupted her without seeming to realize it. "Then there was M8C-537–"

" . . . and the resonance disturbance," Sam finished. She swallowed a chuckle, remembering that it was Altman and his Second who'd come out the worse for that one. And they couldn't show anyone their injuries without compromising their dignity. "But Hailey, you can't seriously believe that it's _always_ like that. Some days are just . . . well, just like this."

"But not most days."

"No," Sam answered honestly. "No, not most. But then, SG-1 is a first-contact team."

Hailey stretched her own legs out toward the fire, tucking her hands into her lap. "So, even though you brought me out here, you don't necessarily expect _me _to do the same thing?"

Sam sat up straight. "No! I mean, yeah. Yes. Hailey, I want you for the Stargate program. I brought you out here so you could know, could experience it first-hand. But do I expect you to be assigned to a first-contact team?" Sam shrugged. "No, I guess not. Not unless it's something _you_ wanted." She studied Hailey's profile, noting the stubborn set to the chin, an expression that never seemed to go completely away. "You don't, do you?"

Hailey just shook her head. She opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly hesitating to overstep a second time.

"Spill it. No penalties. Speak your mind, Cadet." Sam stopped and then added, "What else is going on, Jen?"

The fire popped for several minutes, flames licking eagerly at the dry wood, before Hailey spoke up. "Why . . . why do _you_ do it, Ma'am?" She looked up, her darker blue eyes black in the wavering light of the fire. "Why aren't you on SG-7 or 16, or any of the other exploratory teams? Or heading up a science team? Why be on a team that, more often than not, sees combat more than scientific discovery? What reason could you possibly have for putting yourself, your knowledge and expertise, at this kind of constant risk?"

The questions shot out of the young woman like bullets, fired one after another, leaving Sam somewhat stunned by the rapid-fire volley. It seemed that once the Cadet started, she couldn't turn it off. Sam nodded when Hailey was finished, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knee to give herself time to think. Noting the logs had burned low, she added another to the flames, then poked the embers until she was satisfied with the new burn. Her thoughts churned as chaotically as did the newly sparked flames, chasing themselves in and around the crevices of her mind. Of her memories. How could she explain it? _Could_ she even explain it? She wasn't even sure if she could to herself, let alone someone else.

Beside her, Hailey fidgeted and then rose to her feet. "I'm sorry, Major. I've overstepped."

Sam shook her head but didn't wave the girl back down. Instead she looked up and made sure she caught Hailey's eye. "I guess, Jen, the best answer I can give, is that I belong here. With this team. You do, too." When Hailey's eyes widened, Sam smiled gently. "I don't necessarily mean with a front-line team. But . . . you _do_ belong out here. With us. On a scientific team, on an exploration team, or . . . who knows what other teams we'll have in the future. All I wanted to do was show you what you _could_ have, if you choose to."

The expression of relief on the Cadet's face almost made Sam smile. "You're . . . you're not disappointed that I don't want . . . that?" She gestured to the weapon that rested nearby.

"No."

Hailey blew out a breath. "Thank you, Ma'am. I think I _would_ like to be a part of the team, just not the teams that, you know . . ."

"Get shot at so much," Sam finished dryly.

"Exactly." Hailey sketched a salute and turned away. "G'night, Major Carter. And thank you," she waved her hand to encompass their campground, the huge planet lumbering across the night sky. "For all of it."

"Hmm," Sam's response was quiet, since Hailey was out of earshot anyway. She frowned again at the fire at her feet, jabbing the stick more forcefully than was strictly necessary into the flames. She heard O'Neill's approach from her left, the far side of the camp, long before she could make out his outline in the firelight.

"What's up with Mini-me . . . you. Mini-you?" He sank down beside her and reached for the steaming pot of water. Pouring it into his mug, he glanced over at her. "Carter?"

Sam shrugged, still poking moodily at the fire. Hailey's questions had hit close to the mark, narrowly missing an area she herself had avoided examining too closely. An area she carefully steered the higher-ups from seeing too often, too. As good as she was, and Sam knew she was quite good in combat situations, she really _didn't_ belong on a front-line team. Nor did Daniel, truthfully. Both of them would better serve the SGC and the mission of Earth if they used their skills elsewhere. Janet occasionally threw that at her when she came in with one injury or another, as did the General, from time to time. But the truth was, Sam was certain that Earth, and the SGC, were better served if she was _here_, with him. _Them_, she hastily corrected herself. O'Neill's nudge threw her both physically and mentally off-balance, and Sam reached out to steady herself, catching his sleeve. "Sorry, Sir. What?"

"Hey." The Colonel waited until she was steady before releasing her arm. "What's goin' on? You were at _least_ one light-year away." He tipped his head toward the tents, the direction in which Hailey had disappeared. "What'd the kid have to say?"

Sam turned to him, dropping her legs to cross them Indian-style. "She was just letting me know her team preference. You know, for after graduation."

"Lemme guess. She wants on Five? Or maybe Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"How'd you know, Sir?"

"Dunno, just a guess." He sipped his coffee and, taking the stick from her hands, took over the fire-poking duties.

Sam studied him for a moment, then, like poking at a sleeping bear, couldn't resist asking, "Why haven't I been reassigned, Colonel?"

O'Neill turned to her. "You want to be?"

His expression was bland, his voice even. Too much so, she thought, even as her breath caught in her throat at his question. "No! I mean . . . I'm happy on SG-1, Sir. Very."

"Good."

"It's just . . . she _is_ right, kind of. We _do_ get shot at more times than not."

"We do."

Blowing out a breath, she rested elbows on her folded legs and her chin in her hands. "So . . ."

"So."

They sat in silence, Sam replaying her conversation with Hailey and toying with her now-cold mug of tea. She couldn't imagine doing this job, the "sciency" part, as O'Neill called it, from anywhere but here.

_With him_. Yes, she could admit that, if only to herself. Hell, they'd admitted it to other more than once, just this year alone. So . . . why hadn't the higher-ups pushed it? She knew why she was here. Or at least, most of why she was here. But . . .

"Sir? Why do you think Hammond hasn't pushed?"

O'Neill didn't pretend to not understand. He sat quietly for a long moment, only his fingers moving along the stick he still held in his hands, his expression still.

Too still.

Sam turned to face him fully as her stomach dropped to somewhere below her knees. "He's mentioned it to you, hasn't he?"

O'Neill turned to her, his gaze steady, his voice low. "He has." Sam simply waited, and O'Neill continued. "Keeler and the others brought it up after 862. Hammond shut them down. So did I."

Sam, whose heart had leapt into her throat at his first words, forced her breathing to stay steady. "What–what did Hammond say? What did _you_ say?"

O'Neill turned back to the fire and stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles and leaning back to rest on his elbows. "Well, you know the General, he gave 'em a little of this, some of that. The ol' one-two."

"Colonel." She hated when he did that. Just hated it.

"What do you want me to say, Carter? He told them 'no,' your reassignment wasn't up for discussion." He tipped his face up to the sky, where the large crescent of the low-hanging planet above dominated the sky. Eventually he slid his gaze over to where she sat, her eyes on him. "He might have implied that, ah, you were pretty much the reason we're as good as we are."

"But . . . but that's–"

"Nothing short of the truth, Carter. You keep us in line. You keep us focused. Hell, half the time, you keep us alive."

"That's it, Sir?"

"It?" Flames flickered in his eyes as he tilted his head toward her.

Now he _was_ playing dumb and she knew it. Knew _he_ knew she knew it. Knew, too, that she should leave it alone. But sometimes a girl just needed to hear it, thin and veiled as the confessions between them always were.

She gave him the look. A look that only he would ever be able to interpret.

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Sometimes, it's nice to hear." She felt like a child needing to be reassured.

"You keep me…balanced."

"You're not _un_balanced, Sir. Far from it."

His expression said it all, that she'd just made his point for him. Frustrated, she shook her head. "Sorry, I don't buy it."

He huffed out a breath, frustration edging his voice. "Fine. You tell _me_, then. Why haven't you asked for a transfer? You're more than qualified to run your own team. The last two times we had a command slot open on an S team I halfway expected to find your papers on top." He nudged his chin back toward the tents, where Cadet Hailey was most likely already sound asleep. "She's nearly as bright as you, has—or will have—the same education you had, with the added benefit of your insight. Yet…_she's_ smart enough to ask for a science team, and you…you're out here with me–_us_–out here with us."

Well crap. She'd pushed it, poked at it, and now the bear was grumpy. And grumpy enough to give her the longest lecture she'd ever had from him. And he was right. Well, about most of it. Too much had happened this year for either of them to play coy. Too many things shared; some whispered in the dark of a planet when neither had consciously known the other, or of their other lives; half-spoken promises on a back porch, or around other fires. No…too much to skirt this. To not be honest.

She ducked her chin and then lifted it, remembering that he hated when she did that. "You want to know the reason I don't ask? The thing that makes me different from Hailey?" She pivoted away from the fire to face him, though his face was hidden in shadow, just out of reach of the dancing firelight. "It's this," she gestured between them, then swept her arm wider to encompass the fire. "It's you," she paused, just enough to emphasize the difference, then continued, "and Daniel. And Teal'c. The team. But mostly…" her words stopped in her throat, choking her. She was not _quite_ as ready as she'd first thought to simply lay it all out.

The moment stretched out between them, as endlessly long as the nights on this tiny moon. Around them, night sounds came and went; small animals foraging, the rush of wings on the wind as the night birds began their hunt, all accompanied by the snap and pop of the fire. That elemental thing that had become as much a part of their team as their packs, rations, and gear.

"Balanced, huh?" _Well. That couldn't have sounded more...vague. I _need_ to be out here. With him. With them, yes, but with _him_. Sometimes words were just so…simple, so inadequate. But still so important. Sometimes it wasn't about needing to hear, but about needing to be heard, even if she couldn't find the right words.. _"Same goes, you know?"

O'Neill said nothing and, after waiting for him and realizing he had nothing to add, Sam turned back to the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames adding to the heat on her cheeks. He didn't have to say anything, she knew, but like she'd said earlier, sometimes a girl needs to hear the words. Knowing she wouldn't sleep now before her watch, she added another log to the fire and hunted around for the stick to poke and make room in the embers.

"Here," he said quietly as he lifted himself fluidly to his feet and handed her the stick he'd been using.

She took it from him and, before she could thank him, felt his hand brush across her shoulder once, then settle. The brief squeeze he gave warmed her almost more than had the fire, and it took everything she had to resist turning her head and laying her cheek on the fingers still resting there. Almost as if he'd sensed her thought, the fingers squeezed again, then lifted away, leaving behind the lingering impression of warmth as he stepped out of the light of the fire toward the tents.

"I _do_ know."

The words, spoken almost too low for her to hear, drifted back on the rising breeze. _And sometimes, the simple words are everything._

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Fanfic writers are a community who rely upon others' work. We write derivative fiction based upon characters we do not own. And we could not do so without the efforts of other fans, in this case, I am speaking of the Stargate Wiki. Brilliant collection of information of all-things Stargate, including information I had no idea existed, all packed into _9,402 pages of fabulous information._


	22. This One

A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky. When I hit the sticky bits, she is right there with a line, or a prompt, or a question, and makes it all better. Or clearer. Or both.

Set after _Entity _on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: _When SG-1 sends a probe through the Stargate, a powerful electronic EM pulse comes back through the wormhole and hides inside SGC's computer. But when this electronic entity suddenly jumps inside Carter's mind, SG-1 must choose between saving SGC and saving Carter's life._

~ o0o ~

_This One . . . _

~ o0o ~

PK2-937

1754 SGCS

Sunset +4 Local

10Km at 315˚ of Stargate*

~ o0o ~

Jack nodded at Teal'c as the Jaffa silently slipped into the tent he was sharing with Daniel. Leaning back and stretching, Jack settled into his turn at watch, his senses attuned to the night sounds around their site.

The tiny fire they had decided to keep burning produced very little smoke and did nothing to mask the faint . . . moldy smell that seemed to be everywhere. Where the mold was or where it came from baffled both of his team's scientists, and there didn't seem to be an inordinate amount of rain . . . something for which Jack was grateful.

In the tent behind him he heard Daniel's soft snore choke off abruptly. Teal'c had probably nudged the man to silence his nighttime chorus. From the other tent, Jack heard nothing. He resisted the urge to peek inside, just to confirm for himself that Carter was there. That she was breathing. That she was alive.

No, he wouldn't check.

Again.

Scowling, Jack reached into his pack and began mixing a mug of coffee. Anything to occupy his mind . . . and his hands. As he did so, the memory surfaced again.

_The bright fire crackled and jumped, illuminating all but the furthest reaches of his back yard. Jack stretched out with a relaxed sigh and tucked his hands behind his head, stretching his back. A rare day off had meant completing long-postponed yard work and he was feeling it now. Just as he was mentally debating the merits of a Guinness versus a cup of coffee, he heard his back gate click open._

"_Sir?" Carter's soft voice carried over the damp lawn._

"_Over here. C'mon down."_

_He tracked his Second's progress across the damp grass by the slight squeak of her sneakers. Sneakers meant casual. Casual meant . . . _

"_Something I can do for you, Carter?" He lifted his face to see her standing there nervously tapping a rolled up paper against her thigh. When she didn't answer, he sat up and waved her toward a seat. "I was just gonna get some coffee. Want some?"_

"_Sure, Sir. That'd be great."_

_Jack headed up the yard and into his house and quickly nuked two coffees from the leftover pot on the counter. He grimaced a bit at the taste, but . . . hell. It was coffee. It would do. He added the milk and sugar he knew Carter liked and rejoined her. Seating himself beside her at the table, he slid her cup over to her. "Sorry 'bout the . . . well, it's from the pot I made this afternoon."_

"_I'm sure it's fine." She left the mug there, untouched._

"_So . . . nothing better to do on your day off than wander into my neck of the woods this time of night?"_

_Carter smiled. "No. I mean, yes. I had a lot to do today and . . . here." She unrolled the papers she'd been holding and slid them over to him. _

_Jack didn't move. Didn't even look at the papers. "Carter, are you . . . transferring?"_

"_What?" Carter's gaze snapped up to his, her blue eyes almost blazing in the firelight. "No! I'd never . . . no, Sir! No." She shook her head. "Just read it, would you, Colonel?"_

_Jack held her gaze for a long moment before picking up the papers she'd handed him. He tilted them toward the firelight and read. He took his time, nodding as he read through the legalese, his heart thudding from time-to-time as he ran across the words _"persistent vegetative state,"_ and _"no extraordinary means to prolong life." _He was silent for a long moment, absorbing the words on the paper. Taking in what they meant. What they _could_ mean . . . someday. "What prompted this?"_

_Beside him, Carter lifted a shoulder in response, carefully folding her hands and resting them on the table. "No one thing. Not really. It's just that . . . you know how it is. We're always just _this_ close sometimes. And after that thing we ran into last month on P3T-426, I realized I needed to update my files." She shuddered slightly._

_Jack just looked at her, and was surprised to see her duck her head away from his gaze. "What?"_

"_Last time I updated my medical power of attorney forms I was . . . engaged."_

_Jack stared at her, his mouth falling slightly open. "You mean that Captain Crazy-pants was–"_

"_Colonel!" Carter's rebuke lost some sting as she was laughing sheepishly at his description of her ex-fiancé—and one-time self-proclaimed god—Jonas Hansen._

"_Sorry," he waved her off. "Sorry. Out of line. So, you showing me this so I know . . . for future reference?"_

_This time the silence stretched longer and Jack waited her out. She kept her gaze on the fire and swallowed a few times. Jack watched as each movement caused the light from the fire to paint various angles of her skin in soft gold waves and dancing shadows. Finally she tore her gaze from the fire and met his, full on._

"_No. I'm asking you to sign it. To be the one who–"_

_Jack cut her off, shaking his head. "Carter–"_

"_Sir . . . _please_." She blinked away the first hint of tears. "I can't ask Daniel, he'd never do it. Teal'c . . . well, I'm not sure he grasps all of the nuances of our legal system."_

"_Hammond? Your Dad? Fraiser?" Jack realized he sounded increasingly desperate as he offered choices._

"_Sir . . . " She paused, then said, more quietly, "Jack. Please. I know you'd . . . you would do everything you could to make it _not_ happen, but . . . I trust you. I need you to be the one."_

A sharp crack nearby pulled Jack from his thoughts and he instantly refocused on the surrounding area.

"Sir?" Carter's soft query came from the darkness and Jack let himself relax, while mentally cursing his own inattention. He'd bust down anyone whom he caught daydreaming while on guard duty, and here he was guilty of the same.

"Carter?" Jack glanced at his watch. "What're you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Well, I couldn't sleep any _more_," she amended. Shrugging into her jacket, she moved toward the fire and reached down for the poking stick Jack had laid aside earlier. "Mind if I stir things up?"

"Hmm?" Jack's thoughts wandered at her words. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks."

He watched her settle in beside him, noted that she, as he had, kept her back to the large trees that grew so closely together, her body angled slightly from the fire for a greater field of view. _Good_. She added another log to the fire before setting the stick aside and slipping her hands into the pockets of her field jacket. With a barely audible sigh, she leaned back against the smooth, birch-like bark of the tree and tilted her face toward the sky.

"Something on your mind?"

"Hmm? No, Sir. Not really."

Jack, too, tipped his head back, once again attuned to the sounds of the area around them. He included Carter in his automatic survey of the surroundings and, after the third time she rubbed her temple, he sat up, frowning. "Headache?"

She shook her head.

"Carter . . . I know I missed a memo or two, but tell me I didn't miss anything important about the pissed-off computer program that took over your brain."

She tipped her head toward him and offered a faint smile. "No. No missing memos. It's just an ordinary headache."

"I didn't think you had those?"

"Headaches?"

"Anything close to 'ordinary,'" he returned her smile with a small one of his own.

"Can I ask you something?"

"'Course."

"How did you know, Sir? When you asked Janet to wait? That . . . that there might . . . "

Jack was silent for a long moment, searching silently for the right words. Finally, he blew out a long breath. "I, ah, didn't. Not really." When she turned to face him, he shrugged. "I just . . . I couldn't do it. I know you asked me to, not too long ago, but . . . I couldn't. Not right then."

They sat silently, the only sounds the crackling fire before them.

"You know the worst . . . well, _second_-worst part of that whole thing?" Jack picked up a fallen branch and began shredding the bark. "Your face. You had this blank . . . stony, emotionless – like you didn't recognize–" his stopped abruptly. Voicing it would make it too real and they were both raw enough right now. "Look. It was just a dead look," he finished lamely. How could he describe how his heart had stopped as her blank, singular stare pierced right through him? A look she'd given him, only him, when he had tried to communicate with her. Even when he'd—and this _was_ the worst part—had to pull the trigger on that Zat a second time. No expression. No recognition.

"I could see you." Carter drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. "It was like looking through a foggy, rainy window . . . I could see you. I kept shouting as loud as I could, but–"

Her words sliced right through that place in his heart reserved just for her. He didn't really have another answer. Why _had_ he waited? It was only prolonging the inevitable and it had about killed him to watch her lie there, an empty vessel. He just hadn't been able to take that last, final step. Not then . . . maybe not ever. Finally, his voice low, he said, "I don't have an answer for you, Carter. I just—I needed some more time." He frowned and shoved the stick deep into the fire; the fiery shower of sparks matching his churning emotions. Funny . . . he'd needed more time before he would let someone pull the plug on her, but in the end, it had taken him less than three seconds to pull the Zat's trigger that second time, for the kill-shot. "'Course, I didn't really realize that 'more time' meant 'your CO has to shoot you.'"

"That part wasn't really great for me either, Sir." She rubbed her chest, clearly still sore from Fraiser's team doing chest compressions to keep her blood and oxygen flowing.

Carter was silent and he was content to sit beside her, listening to her breathe, knowing she was _there_. Maybe, in time, he'd stop counting her breaths. In time, his heart would stop hammering when she didn't answer him right away. In time, maybe looking at a Zat wouldn't make his stomach churn.

"Well," she said softly. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you waited." She bumped his shoulder, then looked up at him, her smile finding its way to her eyes. Eyes that were alight with life and light and a little bit of humor. Eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Eyes that could strike him silent with the least amount of effort.

Jack let himself relax into her gaze for a long moment before nodding. "Me, too." He bumped her shoulder back. "Me, too."

And maybe, in time, he'd forgive himself for pulling the trigger.

End.

~ o0o ~

Author's note(s): Okay, as I was writing this I was really bothered by the idea that I had written it before. Or _something_ before about Durable Medical Power of Attorney. I finally Googled myself . . . with some keywords, and guess what? I had. However, I wrote about it in the _Embrace Me_ mini-series that I did and I don't think that counts. I think _Embrace Me_ isn't really canon. It's too shippy. So . . . you get this discussion twice (well, twice if you've read the other series).

In hunting for this long overdue _Campfire_'s story point, I re-watched the episode and noticed that the "Sam/Jack theme" plays twice in the episode during these two bits of dialogue:

ENTITY

This one is important.

O'NEILL

She is.

ENTITY

For this reason, this one was chosen. You will not terminate this one in order to destroy me.

And this one:

FRAISER

. . . Sam made a living will. No extraordinary means.

O'NEILL

Yeah, she told me.

FRAISER

There's no brain activity of any kind, no brain wave for either Sam or the entity. She's being kept alive entirely on life support. I think it's time to let her go, Sir.

O'NEILL

Just give it a minute, huh?

I'm sure anyone reading this noticed this well before I did, but . . . just in case, I'm pointing it out. It doesn't get much shippier than that, eh?

And finally, the * in the location marker at the top. It's bugged me for ages (and has been pointed out in fic) that it's impossible to know N,S,E,and W on other planets if they don't have magnetic poles as do we. So I've decided that from now on the Stargate is the center point of the compass and all teams will set out on a heading. "315˚" is pretty much dead-on NW on our compass. We'll pretend the compasses they use are digital and don't need magnetic poles. Just . . . go with it.


End file.
